SOMETHING 
BEYOND 

and  Other  Poems 


RECREATIONS   OF  A   BUSY   LIFE 


JOHN  GAYLORD  DAVENPORT 


BOSTON 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

1914 


Copyright  1914,  by  John  Gaylord  Davenport 
All  rights  reserved 


es 


Att. 


The  Oorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


TO   MY   LIFE   COMPANION, 

IN  SUNSHINE    INSPIRING,     CHEERFUL    IN  SHADOW, 
AWAITING  ME  BEYOND  THE'CLOUDS. 


CONTENTS 

Something  Beyond 11 

To  a  Sick  Friend 15 

The  Dying  Wife 16 

The  Soldiers'  Monument 17 

Our  Heroic  Dead 19 

Gen.  Frederick  D.  Grant 20 

Memorial  Day 21 

The  Convalescent 22 

Sent  to  Queen  Margherita 23 

October  26,  1899 24 

Kellogg  Day 26 

A  Reminiscence 28 

Our  Fellowship 29 

The  Kiss 30 

The  Murphy  Campaign 31 

Wilton 34 

Knights  of  Columbus 37 

Welcome  to  Dr.  Timothy  Dwight 40 

Men  of  the  Hills 44 

Hexameters 49 

Evolution 50 

An  Experience 52 

The  Wilton  Pulpit 54 

First  Church,  Waterbury 56 

The  Puritan  Minister's  Courtship 62 

Norwalk,  1901 66 

The  Young  Puritan  s  Wooing 68 

The  New  England  Pioneer 72 

A  Puritan  Wedding 75 

The  Ordination  Ball 79 

Jonathan  and  Hannah  Scott 83 

Easter 87 

The  Welcome 88 

Home  Again 89 

The  Future 90 

The  New  Star,  1907 90 


CONTENTS 
SONNETS 

Washington 93 

Lincoln 93 

Whittier 94 

Cyrus  W.  Field 94 

Fanny  J.  Crosby 95 

Phillips  Brooks 95 

Theodore  I.  Driggs 96 

Mrs.  Mary  L.  Mitchell 96 

Gov.  R.  S.  Woodruff 97 

Mrs.  Mary  E.  Foster 97 

Mrs.  F.  J.  Kingsbury 98 

Clarence 98 

Dr.  Joseph  Anderson,  1903 99 

The  Same,  1906 99 

An  Acrostic 100 

Rev.  Edwin  P.  Parker,  D.  D 100 

Rev.  E.  G.  Beckwith,  D.  D 101 

Gov.  George  L.  Lilley 101 

Henry  L.  Wade 102 

Thomas  Edward  Murphy 102 

Rev.  A.  Moss  Merwin 103 

Rev.  H.  Dewitt  Williams 103 

The  Senior  to  the  Junior 104 

He  and  1 105 

Rev.  Richard  W.  Micou 105 

Frederick  J.  Kingsbury,  LL.  D 106 

George  N.  Ells 107 

Rev.  M.  S.  Dudley 107 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  H.  Baird 108 

Amzi  Benedict  Davenport 108 

"Noiu  I  Lay  Me  Down  to  Sleep" 109 

The  Journey  to  Florida 109 

Our  Flag 110 

Independence  Day 110 

Stamford,  1641 HI 

Stamford,  1892 Ill 


CONTENTS 

Memories 112 

Departing  Friends 112 

Prospect 113 

The  Organ 113 

May-Time 114 

Easter 11  \ 

Thanksgiving 115 

First  Baptist  Church,  Waterbury 115 

Congregational  Church,  Naugatuck 116 

The  Watertown  Monument 116 

Class  of  1869,  Williams 117 

1906 117 

The  Soldier  Boy 118 

The  Class  of  '63,  Williams 119 

The  Loved  and  Lost  of  '63 120 


SOMETHING   BEYOND 


SOMETHING  BEYOND 

A  type  of  the  human  soul 
Is  the  restless  ocean, 

Anon  reflecting  the  heavens'  calm, 
Anon  their  commotion; 

Reaching  after  the  moon 

As  the  mind  for  the  sum  of  truth; 

Hiding  within  its  caves 

The  pearl  and  the  monster,  forsooth. 

Then,  too,  it  never  is  full, 

Though  numberless  brimming  urns 

Each  of  the  thronging  water  nymphs 
Into  its  bosom  turns. 
Down  the  hillsides, 
Through  the  valley, 
Up  where  mountain  shadows  rally, 
In  the  sunbeams'  glow  and  glitter, 
'Mong  the  nightshades  rank  and  bitter, 
By  the  quiet,  dreamy  glen, 
Through  the  serpent-haunted  fen, 
Over  sanded  ways  of  gold, 
Over  granite  sharp  and  cold, 
Come  the  nymphs  in  ceaseless  train 
With  their  offerings  to  the  main. 
Urns  of  crystal  wreathed  with  foam, 
Sparkling  like  the  azure  dome, 
In  the  ocean's  depths  they  pour, 
Yet  it  ever  sighs  for  more. 
'Tis  even  thus  with  the  human  soul, 
Though  it  drink  from  every  proffered  bowl, 
Though  it  bow  to  satisfy  its  thirst 
Wherever  the  springing  waters  burst, 
It  fails  to  quench  the  fond  desire 
For  something  more  and  something  higher. 


11 


Not  the  knowledge  of  a  seraph 

Tutored  by  the  Source  of  mind, 
Not  the  power  to  wield  a  scepter 

Over  all  created  kind, 
Not  the  wealth  to  buy  a  jewel 
Flaming  in  the  midnight  sky, 
Not  all  wealth  and  power  and  knowledge 

Can  the  spirit  satisfy. 
Not  the  laurel  wreath  of  honor 
Gleaming  on  the  lofty  brow, 
Not  the  praise  of  envious  millions 

That  before  the  hero  bow, 
Not  affection's  silken  fingers 

Twining  rosebuds  'round  the  heart, 
Not  the  sum  of  love  and  honor 
Satisfies  the  immortal  part. 
Not  the  radiant  soul  of  beauty 

Gleaming  through  the  flowers  of  earth, 
Not  the  bright-winged  spirits  hovering 

Round  the  star  of  evening's  birth; 
Not  this  universe  cathedral 

Hung  with  lamps  that  incense  breathe, 
Sending  up  their  cloud  of  homage 

All  the  pillared  throne  to  wreathe; 
Not  the  land  that  glows  and  sparkles 

At  imagination's  word; 
Not  the  strains  of  angel  music 
In  the  spirit's  silence  heard; 
Not  unfathomed  depths  of  feeling 
Where  the  dusty  soul  may  lave 
Are  enough  to  still  its  longings, 

That  it  nothing  more  shall  crave. 
For  a  moment  each  will  gladden 

With  its  golden  ray  of  joy, 
But  no  moment  brings  a  blessing 
Which  the  next  shall  still  employ. 


Ye  thoughtful  who  grope  in  the  depths  of  the  mind 
The  spring  of  its  marvelous  working  to  find, 
Ye  philosophers  scanning  the  mystical  page 
Whose  characters  ever  have  tempted  the  sage, 
Can  ye  tell  why  flameth  this  ceaseless  fire? 
Can  ye  read  the  end  of  this  strange  desire? 

Is  it  not  an  echo  ringing 

Through  the  spirit's  weird  halls, 
Echo  of  an  invitation 

That  from  some  far  future  falls? 
Echo  of  a  language  wooing 

To  some  fairer,  better  land, 
Where  the  soul  enriched,  enraptured, 

On  some  starry  hight  shall  stand? 
Echo  of  the  blest  assurance 

That  as  is  the  soul's  desire 
Such  shall  be  its  full  provision, 

Ever  something  more  and  higher? 
Not  as  an  eagle  fettered  and  caged 

And  left  to  languish  and  die, 
While  the  piteous  gleam  of  a  heavenward  glance 

Fades  from  its  noble  eye, — 
But  bearing  enclosed  in  its  deep  recess 

A  title  affixed  with  power 
To  something  beyond  its  highest  thought, 

To  an  unencircled  dower, — 
The  spirit  of  man  can  feast  on  hope, 

Can  spread  its  airy  wing 
And  darting  above  the  storm-tossed  cloud, 

In  its  self -poised  grandeur  sing: 


13 


"Something  beyond!     My  life  is  a  day 
That  knows  no  twilight's  muffled  ray; 
Something  beyond!    My  heritage  lies 
Away,  away  through  the  azure  skies. 

Ye  clouds  of  gold 

Unfold!  Unfold! 
I  fain  would  view  my  wealth  untold. 

Now  the  shrouding  mists  arise, 
Now  the  vision  dims  my  eyes! 
Fountain  gleaming  over  fountain! 
Mountain  overtopping  mountain! 

O  wondrous  sight! 

O  vistas  bright! 

Away,  away,  no  end,  no  bound, 
Unhedged,  unmeasured  lies  this  peerless  ground. 

What  is  earth  with  all  her  glory 

But  a  single  golden  grain 
From  the  hights  which  round  the  horizon 

Dimly  rise,  a  ghostly  train? 
Earth  on  earth  without  her  shadows, 

Earth  on  earth  without  her  tears, 
Worlds  unnumbered  draped  in  sunshine, 

Yea,  infinity  appears." 
And  a  voice  like  angel  music, 

As  a  mother's  accents  fond, 
Whispers,  "Spirit,  'tis  thy  birthright, 

Ever  something  still  beyond. " 


14 


TO  A  SICK  FRIEND 

Accept  these  roses,  beloved  friend, 

That  the  June  doth  lend. 
Tokens  of  love  divine  are  they, 
For  the  Father  touched  each  tiny  spray 
And  sent  them  to  cheer  thee  on  thy  way. 

They  are  the  voice  of  the  glorious  June, 

When  the  world  is  attune. 
And  they  speak  not  only  of  love  divine, 
But  with  them  human  love  doth  twine 
And  from  their  lustrous  petals  shine. 

Their  fragrance  will  breathe  of  the  kindly  thought 

Of  sympathy  wrought; 

Of  the  prayer  that  rises,  dear  friend,  for  thee 
As  the  flower-wreathed  days  so  swiftly  flee, 
That  vigor  may  soon  thy  portion  be. 

Does  it  seem  so  very  long  to  wait, 

It  comes  so  late? 

But  the  roses  waited  the  genial  day 
That  bade  them  all  their  wealth  display, 
And  they  quite  forgot  the  long  delay. 

And  thus,  dear  friend,  a  day  will  dawn 

With  the  shadows  gone; 
And  from  thy  couch  thou  wilt  arise, 
The  gleam  of  health  in  thy  lovelit  eyes, 
While  thy  cheeks  its  rose  tint  richly  dyes. 


15 


THE  DYING  WIFE 

"/  thought  if  we  could  have  one  more  kiss." 

One  more  kiss, 

One  more  link  in  the  chain  of  bliss 
That  has  bound  our  souls  as  the  years  have  flown, 
My  dearest,  my  own, 

One  more  kiss. 

One  more  kiss! 

Beckoned  to  fairer  worlds  than  this, 
I  could  not,  darling,  take  my  flight 
To  realms  of  light, 
Without  one  kiss. 

It  tells  the  tale 

Of  a  true  heart's  love  that  will  never  fail, 
Of  a  memory  that  will  still  abide 
Though  ages  glide 

And  stars  grow  pale. 

It  speaks  the  hope 

That  though  awhile  in  gloom  you  grope, 
You  yet  will  find  the  glowing  dawn, 
The  shadows  gone, 
The  heavenly  slope! 

And  we  shall  meet 

Where  springing  flowers  are  wondrous   sweet, 
Where  earth's  fond  love  its  fruitage  finds, 
And  rapture  binds 
The  moments  fleet. 

One  more  kiss; 

Its  meaning  you  will  never  miss, 
Beloved,  till  that  glad  embrace, 
When,  face  to  face, 
We  greet  in  bliss! 

16 


THE  SOLDIERS'  MONUMENT 

Waterbury,  1884 

Granite  and  bronze  uprear 

To  our  glorious  slain ! 

Granite  the  courage  that  wavered  not,  faltered  not 
Granite  the  purpose  heroic  that  altered  not; 
Granite  the  noble  hearts  bared 

To  the  murderous  rain; 
The  tribute  though  meager, 
Grateful  and  eager, 

With  tears  for  their  pain, 
Granite  and  bronze  we  rear 

To  our  glorious  slain. 

Bronze  and  granite  uplift 

To  our  patriots  dear ! 

Tarnish  the  bronze,  but  their  purity  paleth  not; 
Perish  the  bronze,  but  their  memory  faileth  not; 
Shrined  are  our  love  and  our  grief 

In  the  emblems  we  rear; 
With  swelling  emotion 
We  hail  their  devotion 

Unblemished  with  fear; 
Bronze  and  granite  for  aye 
Will  utter  them  dear. 

'Neath  these  October  skies 

Honor  our  dead! 

Pure  as  the  azure  the  love  that  impelled  them; 
Stainless  the  fervor  that  seized  them,  that  held 

them; 

Lustrous  the  valor  that  crowned 
Every  patriot's  head; 


17 


Gallant  the  foe  they  fought, 
Nobly  each  hero  wrought, 

Just  where  his  duty  led; 
Under  these  glowing  skies 

Honor  our  dead! 

Publish,  O  city,  the  praise 

Of  the  heroes  asleep ! 

Break,  bending  elms,  into  beauty  and  glory! 
Flash  out,  ye  banners,  the  heart-thrilling  story! 
Chime  all  ye  bells,  while  the  trumpets 

Their  harmony  sweep! 
Lips  with  the  theme  aflame 
Utter  their  peerless  fame ! 

Hearts  sob  and  weep! 
O  that  our  praises  might  waken 

These  heroes  asleep! 

Stand,  O  granite  and  bronze 

While  the  ages  shall  roll! 

Tell  the  unborn  the  great  deeds  of  their  sires! 
Move  them  to  greatness  as  duty  requires ! 
Bid  them  by  action  heroic 

Sweet  freedom  extol! 
Ready  at  country's  call, — 
Ready  to  fight  or  fall, — 
Fervent  in  soul; 
Faithful  to  man  and  to  God 
While  the  centuries  roll. 


18 


OUR  HEROIC  DEAD 

Music  shall  swell  in  their  honor, 

Loud  let  it  ring  in  the  air, 
Cornet  and  cymbal  and  drum-beat 

Answer  the  bugle's  blare; 
This  it  was  that  inspired  them, 
This  that  with  energy  fired  them, 

Moved  them  to  do  and  to  dare. 

Songs  to  their  praise  shall  be  chanted, 
Thrilling  the  air  of  the  May, 

Manhood  and  youth  in  accordance 
Lifting  melodious  lay; 

Songs  that  re-echo  their  story, 

Songs  that  bear  onward  their  glory, 
These  shall  be  chanted  for  aye. 

Dirges  shall  wail  o'er  their  pillow, 
Dirges  for  beauty  and  bloom, 

For  manliest  strength  and  affection 
Hid  in  the  pitiless  tomb; 

Measures  that  sob  and  that  quiver, 

Like  waters  of  deep-rolling  river, 

Shall  flow  o'er  their  silence  and  gloom. 


19 


GEN.  FREDERICK  D.  GRANT 

Brave  soldier  of  the  nation, 
True  soldier  of  the  cross, 

With  countless  of  our  fellows 
We  mourn  thy  loss. 

Yet,  far  above  earth's  conflicts, 
Whose  thunders  never  cease, 

'Mid  great  heroic  spirits 
Thou  hast  found  peace. 

And  while  the  Hudson  lingers 
To  chant  thy  mournful  dirge, 

Then  hastes  to  tell  the  story 
To  ocean  surge; 

Thy  name  and  his  who  gave  it 
With  splendor  jeweled  o'er, 

America  will  honor 
Forevermore. 


20 


MEMORIAL  DAY 

Break  into  bloom,  O  sunshine  of  May, 
Blossom  in  beauty,  O  leaf-mantled  spray, 
Crimson  and  azure  and  snow  outspread 
Over  the  couch  of  our  glorious  dead. 

Here  drop  your  tears,  O  sable-robed  night, 
Lift  here,  O  morn,  your  banners  of  light, 
Stars  of  the  evening  look  down  from  the  sky, 
Guarding  the  spot  where  the  conquerors  lie. 

Here  breathe  your  balm,  O  zephyr  of  spring, 
Bird  of  the  air,  here  linger  and  sing, 
Trees  of  the  forest,  O  cease  not  your  dirge, 
Echo  it  ever,  old  ocean's  wild  surge. 

Freemen,  recall  the  beauty  and  worth 

Hid  from  your  view  in  the  dust  of  the  earth; 

O  'twas  for  us  that  they  fought  and  they  bled; 

What  owe  we  not  to  our  glorious  dead? 

Nation  redeemed,  come  honor  the  brave, 
Over  their  couch  your  starry  flag  wave; 
Garland  with  laurel  unfading  their  bed, 
Pillow  in  glory  each  low-lying  head ! 


THE  CONVALESCENT 

Welcome,  dear  lady,  to  life  and  to  vigor 

Welcome  to  scenes  that  have  waited  thee  long; 

Much  we  have  prayed  for  thee; 

Weeks  we  have  stayed  for  thee; 

Sadness  has  fettered  our  laughter  and  song; 

Welcome  again  to  our  rapturous  throng. 

Earth  wreathes  her  garlands  of  lilies  to  greet  thee; 

Gilds  them  with  sunshine  and  glory  untold; 
Bends  her  bright  skies  for  thee; 
Spends  her  clear  dyes  for  thee; 

Touches  the  arches  with  sapphire  and  gold; 
Waits,  thee  in  splendor  and  joy  to  enfold. 


SENT  TO  QUEEN  MARGHERITA  OF 

ITALY,  BY  MELLICENT  PORTER 

CHAPTER,  D.  A.  R. 

"Break  not,  O  woman's  heart,  but  still  endure!" 
Thus  wrote  the  laureate  to  England's  queen 
When  he,  she  loved  had  fallen  at  her  side. 

"Break  not,  O  woman's  heart,"  we  humbly  cry 

To  thee,  who  in  an  evil  hour  didst  lose 

The  arm  that  sheltered  and  the  heart  that  loved. 

Break  not,  O  royal  heart,  but  calm  as  he 
Who  met  so  bravely  cruelty's  assault 
And  passed  a  hero  to  his  heavenly  throne, 
Endure  the  bitter  grief,  a  heroine, 
Till  God  shall  call  thee  to  his  side  again. 

In  all  the  love  that  wreathes  thee  round,  be  strong; 

The  love  of  kin  and  people,  and  the  love 

Of  thousands  in  the  wide,  wide  earth. 

For  not  a  woman's  heart  is  touched  with  woe 

But  sympathizes  with  thy  cruel  fate; 

And  not  a  woman's  heart  is  glad  but  grieves 

That  equal  gladness  is  not  left  to  thee. 

This  western  world  that  owes  so  much  to  thine 

Deeply  condoles  with  Italy's  sad  queen. 


OCTOBER  26,  1899 
C.  G.  D. 

Where  hast  thou  been,  my  darling  boy, 
Since  that  dark  day,  one  year  ago, 
When  northward  swept  the  wail  of  woe 

That  drowned  the  accents  of  our  joy? 

Didst  know  how  ached  our  hearts  for  thee 
As  days  and  weeks  thy  precious  form, 
Beaconed  by  sunlight,  rocked  by  storm, 

Was  borne  upon  the  tossing  sea? 

Didst  mark  our  grief  as  home  at  last, 

To  thee  we  opened  wide  the  door, 

And  in  they  reverently  bore 
Thy  manhood  bound  in  silence  fast? 

Didst  see  the  throngs  that  gathered  round, 
And  hear  the  words  of  loving  praise, 
And  on  the  martial  splendor  gaze, 

And  note  thy  couch  in  hah1  owed  ground? 

Dost  know  how  sad  has  been  the  year, 
How  blight  has  mingled  with  its  bloom, 
And  all  its  sunshine  paled  in  gloom, 

For  that  thou  wert  no  longer  here? 

Hast  heard  how  victory  complete 

Has  crowned  the  work  that  thou  didst  share, 

And  given  hope  to  islands  fair 
Long  crushed  beneath  the  oppressor's  feet? 

Hast  learned  the  fortunes  of  the  East, 
And  how  the  hosts  from  bondage  freed, 
Their  liberators  charge  with  greed 

And  war's  grim  horrors  have  increased? 


Didst  hear  the  shouts  when  Dewey  came 
A  conqueror  from  the  orient  far, 
Adorned  with  many  a  gleaming  star 

And  grandly  trumpeted  by  fame? 

And  didst  thou  hear  our  humbler  strain 
Of  triumph  as  our  own  returned, 
And  patriotism  glowed  and  burned 

From  morning's  dawn  to  twilight's  wane? 

O  that  as  martial  music  pealed 

Thou  mightst  have  trod  the  crowded  ways 
And  listened  to  the  people's  praise 

With  other  heroes  from  the  field! 

Ah,  well!     'Twas  otherwise  ordained;   ' 
The  great  Commander,  it  maybe, 
In  other  realms  had  need  of  thee, 

And  faith  alone  to  us  remained. 

We  will  be  brave  as  thou  wast  brave, 
And  share  the  joy  that  others  know, 
And  weep  with  those  who  bear  the  blow 

That  swept  their  dear  ones  to  the  grave. 

And  when  life's  checkered  scene  is  crossed, 
And  we  the  farthest  goal  have  won, 
'Mid  glories  of  the  setting  sun 

Perchance  we'll  find  the  loved  and  lost. 


KELLOGG  DAY 

WELCOME 

Over  the  continent,  over  the  seas, 
Bandied  by  billow,  wafted  by  breeze, 
Bathed  in  the  sunshine  of  tropical  skies, 
Watched  by  the  stars  as  by  love-lighted  eyes, 
Past  coral  islands  awave  with  their  palm, 
Floating  through  oceans  of  fragrance  and  balm 
True  to  New  England  where'er  he  may  roam, 
Cometh  our  hero  at  last  to  his  home ! 

Memory  paints  for  him  ever  and  aye 
Scenes  of  that  wonderful  morning  in  May, 
When  from  the  hight  of  her  ancient  renown 
Spain  'mid  the  clash  of  the  battle  went  down. 
In  the  front  of  the  conflict  the  Baltimore  gleamed; 
Grim  as  an  angel  of  vengeance  she  seemed; 
Spoke  then  her  iron  lips  startling  the  world 
As  'gainst  stern  oppression  her  protest  she  hurled. 

Fierce  was  the  strife  as  the  day  mounted  high; 
Battlesmoke  blotted  the  sun  from  the  sky; 
Spain  saw  her  fleet  and  her  forces  o'erthrown; 
Reaped  the  full  harvest  of  blood  she  had  sown. 
Then  in  its  beauty  the  Stripe  and  the  Star 
Shone  o'er  the  tranquilized  waters  afar! 
Peace  dropped  her  mantle,  the  battle  was  done, 
And  Dewey  was  admiral,  victory  was  won! 

'Mid  the  wild  flames  of  that  terrible  day, 
Standing  unblenched  in  the  bullet's  dread  way, 
Passing  the  powder  and  yielding  the  ball, 
Wounded  and  bleeding,  yet  calm  amid  all, 
He,  our  own  hero,  the  Yankee  boy  true, 
Firm  as  the  hills  in  whose  shadow  he  grew, 
Thrilled  with  the  valor  of  patriot  sires, 
Bravely  toiled  on  through  the  battle's  fierce  fires. 

26 


What  were  his  thoughts  as  the  angel  of  death 
Hovered  so  closely  and  scorched  with  his  breath? 
We  can  imagine  the  picture  whose  gleam 
Brightened  his  eye  as  a  beautiful  dream; 
Home  with  its  loved  ones,  the  place  of  his  birth, 
Dearer  to  him  than  all  else  of  the  earth; 
These  elm-shaded  streets;  the  joys  of  his  youth; 
The  prayer  he  had  learned;  the  unchangeable 
truth. 

Glad  dawns  the  day  when  he's  with  us  once  more, 
Vigorous,  hearty  and  hale  as  of  yore; 
Bronzed  by  the  kiss  of  the  amorous  sun; 
Proud  of  the  conquest  the  navy  has  won; 
Greeted  by  hosts  who  rejoice  in  his  fame; 
Cheered  by  the  plaudits  that  honor  his  name; 
Thanks  that  the  Power  that  o'ershadows  the  wave 
Yet  again  gives  us  our  Kellogg,  the  brave! 


A  REMINISCENCE 
To  J.  D.  W. 

Upon  an  earlier  April  day, 

Full  forty  years  ago, 
Another  darling  came  to  cheer 

Our  pilgrimage  below. 

He  was  a  comely  little  youth, 
With  sunnier  hair  than  thine, 

And  eyes  that  changed  to  softest  brown 
From  blue  akin  to  mine. 

I  pressed  him  to  my  happy  heart, 

And  to  him  sang  my  joy; 
And  soon  he  whispered,  "Tell  me  'bout 

When  you  was  little  boy. " 

And  as  I  told  him  wondrous  things 

Which  fancy  painted  well, 
He  would  exclaim  to  those  about, 

"Just  hear  my  papa  tell!" 

But  soon,  too  soon,  he  left  my  arms 

And  bore  my  song  away; 
Yet  I  am  finding  it  again, 

This  later  April  day. 

For  somehow,  John,  it  seems  to  me, 

As  I  thy  form  enfold, 
That  thou  art  he  to  whom  I  sang 

In  those  sweet  days  of  old. 

Then  life  before  me  lay,  but  now 

The  sunset  draweth  near, 
My  work  is  nearly  done,  and  thou 

Perchance  wilt  take  it,  dear. 


And  maybe  I  shall  find  again, 
Some  sweet  celestial  day, 

The  boy  who  years  and  years  ago 
From  "papa"  went  away. 

And  maybe,  darling,  by  and  by, 
We  shall  together  stand, 

And  sing  a  nobler  song;  with  me 
My  boys  on  either  hand ! 


OUR  FELLOWSHIP 

Sometimes  I  sit  and  hold  the  boy, 

And  though  he  silent  seems, 
There  is  an  answer  in  his  soul 

To  all  my  thoughts  and  dreams. 
"I  wonder,  baby,  if  before 

You've  dwelt  upon  this  earth, 
And  now  have  found,  perchance  your  tenth, 

Or,  maybe,  twentieth  birth?" 
He  opes  his  eyes,  and  looks  so  wise, 

He  understands  me  well, 
And  I  can  catch  his  quiet  sigh : 

"I  know  but  will  not  tell!" 
"If  up  in  heaven  you  lingered  long, 

And  knew  the  bright  ones  there, 
I  wonder  if  you  met  the  boy 

That  had  my  love  and  care?" 
He  slightly  smiles,  and  in  his  eye 

There  shines  a  tiny  tear, 
As  if  my  question  had  aroused 

A  memory  sad  and  dear! 


THE  KISS 

The  baby's  cheek  is  as  soft  as  silk, 

A  wonderful  cheek  to  kiss; 
And  his  little  mouth  with  roseleaf  lips 

Just  challenges  one  to  bliss. 

But  if  we  attempt  to  osculate, 

His  nurses  are  not  irenic; 
In  a  tone  of  horror  they  all  exclaim, 

"It's  by  no  means  hygienic!" 

And  if  we  plead,  "  But  we  were  kissed, 

And  life  still  with  us  stays;" 
With  great  contempt  they  say,  "There  were 

No  microbes  in  those  days!" 


30 


THE  MURPHY  CAMPAIGN 

1893 

We've  a  sort  of  lingering  notion 
'Twas  "a  campaign  of  emotion," 
'Twas  a  flood  of  fun  and  laughter 
Bursting  forth  and  following  after; 
'Twas  amazingly  amusing, 
All  proprieties  confusing; 
Just  swamping  all  the  staid  ones, 
The  bachelor  and  maid  ones, 
All  the  deacons  and  the  lawyers, 
All  the  builders  and  destroyers, 
All  the  tearful  undertakers, 
All  the  brass  and  button  makers, 
All  the  workmen  and  contractors, 
All  the  city's  benefactors, 
In  a  boundless,  soundless  ocean 
Of  "amusement  and  emotion." 

In  fact,  if  one  should  "work  us," 

We'd  admit  it  was  a  circus, 

The  manager  gyrating, 

And  we  humbly  imitating, 

His  performance  emulating 

As  he  set  us  all  a-prating ! 

Our  leader  stamped  and  thundered 

While  all  Waterbury  wondered, 

And  surrendered  with  devotion 

To  "amusement  and  emotion. " 

It  was  only  fun  and  frolic 
For  such  as  loved  to  rollick; 
It  was  only  foam  and  bubble, 
Scarcely  paying  for  the  trouble; 
It  was  only  glint  and  glitter, 
One  sweet  drop  amid  the  bitter; 


31 


'Twas  the  birdsong  of  the  meadow, 
And  the  purple  of  the  shadow; 
'Twas  the  blue  of  distant  mountain, 
'Twas  the  music  of  the  fountain, 
'Twas  the  loveliness  of  fairy, 
'Twas  whatever's  light  and  airy, 
Just  a  mild  and  pleasant  potion, 
This  campaign  of  mere  "emotion." 

But,  from  out  this  fragile  seeming, 

This  dim,  evanescent  gleaming, 

This  moonshine  in  the  vapor, 

This  city  built  on  paper, 

This  thoughtless  execution, 

Behold,  an  evolution ! 

Apparent  is  my  moral; 

The  foam  builds  up  the  coral, 

The  moonlight  tints  the  petal, 

The  bugle  stirs  the  mettle, 

The  distant  blue  assuages 

The  grief  that  whelms  and  rages, 

And  e'en  the  pictured  city 

Is  more  than  simply  pretty, 

A  magic,  potent  lever 

It  moves  to  brave  endeavor. 

And  so,  the  fun  and  laughter 
Show  fruitage  ripening  after; 
And  so  the  telling  story 
That  wrapped  our  "Ned"  in  glory. 
And  so  the  wit  and  humor, 
The  incident  and  rumor. 
The  quaint,  incisive  saying 
That  set  a  soul  a-praying, 
The  word  so  sweet  and  tender 
That  only  he  could  render, 
The  period  bold  and  thrilling 
That  captured  souls  unwilling, 
The  language  strangely  winning 


That  caught  and  held  the  sinning, 
The  hand-grasp  warm  and  thawing 
With  its  magnetic  drawing, 
The  gesture  wild  yet  taking 
That  set  the  platform  quaking, 
The  shrewd,  pathetic  pleading 
The  climax  oft  succeeding, 
The  conquests  high  and  lowly 
Of  lives  till  then  unholy, 
The  campaign  we  remember 
That  cheered  the  dull  November, 
This  yields  its  harvest  yellow, 
Its  fruitage  rich  and  mellow. 

From  out  its  waves  of  feeling 

To  every  soul  appealing, 

From  out  the  toss  and  foaming 

That  seethed  amid  the  gloaming, 

Like  Venus  from  the  surges 

Pure,  manly  life  emerges; 

Life  in  broad  proportions  builded, 

Uplifted,  garnished,  gilded, 

By  the  voice  to  which  we  listened, 

By  the  wit  that  gleamed  and  glistened, 

By  the  pathos  and  affection, 

By  the  wise  and  kind  correction, 

By  the  soul  that  like  an  ember 

Glowed  amid  the  gray  November. 

What  fruit  could  be  diviner, 

Be  nobler,  grander,  finer, 

Than  that  which,  we've  a  notion, 

Crowned  this  "campaign  of  emotion"? 


33 


WILTON 

1901 

Fair  are  the  hills  of  our  native  town, 
Sweet  are  the  valleys  that  lie  between, 

Sparkling  the  river  rippling  down 
Through  the  meadows  green. 

Nowhere  else  is  the  air  so  clear, 

Nowhere  else  is  the  sun  so  bright, 
And  purer  than  elsewhere  burns  each  sphere 

That  gems  the  night. 

But  the  heart  sees  more  than  the  eye  discerns, 
It  catches  visions  of  by-gone  years, 

And  over  the  sacred  memory  yearns 
With  smiles  and  tears. 

Here  lived  the  lives  that  kindled  ours; 

Here  faces  beamed  with  grace  benign ; 
Here  blossomed  friendship's  sweetest   flowers 

In  light  divine. 

Here  in  the  vigor  of  careless  youth 
We  strode  o'er  pathways  violet-strewn, 

And  dreamed  the  realms  of  light  and  truth 
Were  all  our  own. 

The  heavens  above  were  rainbow-spanned, 

The  skies  beyond  us  were  aglow, 
And  all  things  our  ambition  fanned 

To  be  and  know. 

Here  aspiration  found  its  wing, 

Here  expectation  gazed  afar, 
Here  youthful  love  began  to  sing 

Of  guiding  star. 


34 


Within  these  sacred  walls  we  met 

The  Man  ideal,  the  Nazarene, 
His  crown  with  every  jewel  set 

Of  ray  serene. 

And  to  our  waking  souls  He  said, 

Amid  the  flush  of  life's  young  day, 
"By  Me  to  noblest  goal  be  led, 

I  am  the  way. " 

The  years  have  hastened,  and  once  again 
The  sweet-toned  bell  to  the  children  calls, 

And  wre  see,  from  the  varied  haunts  of  men, 
These  hallowed  walls. 

Out  from  the  mists  of  the  sacred  past 

Voices  drift  that  we  knew  of  yore, 
Warm  hands  clasp  ours  and  hold  them  fast 

As  oft  before. 

WTe  stand  in  the  midst  of  a  blessed  throng 
In  which  are  the  loved  of  the  long-ago, 

And  we  list  to  the  burden  of  their  song 
As  its  measures  flow. 

They  tell  of  a  land  where  loved  ones  meet 

And  never  a  word  of  parting  hear; 
WThere  the  radiant  hours  with  joy  are  sweet, 

Nor  dimmed  with  fear. 

And  as  we  listen,  He  comes  again, 

The  Master  with  changeless  vigor  rife, 

And  He  whispers,  "Remember,  O  sons  of  men, 
I  am  the  life. " 

The  skies  above  us  may  seem  to  pale, 
And  the  rainbow  tints  to  lose  their  glow, 

But  earth's  chief  charm  will  never  fail 
If  Him  we  know. 


35 


There  is  no  death.     They  only  move 

In  loftier  ranges  who  have  gone, 
And  all  the  joy  of  triumph  prove 

In  fadeless  dawn. 

O  friends  departed,  if  to-day 

In  radiant  choirs  you  gather  here, 

Believe  us  faithful,  as  we  say, 
"You  still  are  dear." 

Fair  are  the  hills  of  our  native  town, 

Blue  in  the  distance,  or  touched  with  gold 

As  the  orb  of  day  goes  glorious  down 
As  it  sank  of  old. 

Over  these  hills  may  the  light  of  truth 
And  the  light  of  purity  shine  for  aye, 

Guiding  the  feet  of  age  and  of  youth 
In  the  heavenly  way. 

Dear  mother  Church,  so  youthful  still, 

Immortal  as  thy  living  Lord, 
To  thee  our  souls  with  homage  thrill 

In  every  chord. 


36 


KNIGHTS  OF  COLUMBUS 

The  realm  of  Romance  lies  far  away 

From  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  to-day, 

Back  in  the  dreamland  of  the  years 

Where  all  in  magic  guise  appears, 

Where  never  is  heard  the  engine's  squeal 

Nor  the  "chug"  and  "toot"  of  the  automobile, 

Where  the  great  arc  light  has  never  shone 

And  wireless  telegraphy  is  unknown; 

WThere  the  "national  game"  was  never  played, 

Nor  "tainted  money"  ever  made; 

Where  lords  and  ladies  in  castles  high 

The  might  of  their  enemy  would  defy; 

With  drawbridge  lifted,  the  deep  moat  filled, 

Retainers  posted  and  guards  well  drilled, 

The  barons  would  feast  with  their  comrades  bold, 

While  their  ladies  embroidered  with  threads  of 

gold; 

And  life  was  dreamy  and  peaceful  there 
Till  the  summons  came  the  fight  to  share. 
That  knight  of  old  has  passed  away, 
His  prancing  steed  has  turned  to  clay, 
His  rusted  armor  silent  hangs, 
His  spear  no  more  on  corselet  clangs, 
His  soul  heroic,  as  we  trust, 
Now  wears  the  laurels  of  the  just. 
His  type  was  of  the  storied  past 
W'hose  memory  alone  could  last; 
His  heroism  gems  the  tale 
That  all  must  thrill  till  time  shall  fail. 
And  yet,  does  not  this  century  need 
The  man  of  knightly  soul  and  deed? 
Shall  not  our  princely  country  own 
The  worthiest  knight  that  earth  has  known? 
Loyal  as  was  not  he  of  old 
To  principles  of  finest  mould? 
Loyal  to  all  that's  high  and  grand, 
The  standards  of  this  favored  land? 

37 


Loyal  to  country's  high  behest, 

Counting  the  great  republic  best, 

True  to  the  flag  of  the  stripe  and  star 

Whose  wondrous  beauty  streams  afar? 

Loyal  to  that  celestial  throne 

Whose   splendor  through   the  years  has   shone? 

True  "loyalty"  must  mark  the  knight 

Whose  fame  in  modern  days  is  bright. 

And  "courtesy"  lauded  so  greatly  of  old, 

Its  place  conspicuous  ever  must  hold; 

Consideration  and  kindness  for  all 

Who  jostle  us  on  this  earthly  ball; 

Catholic,  Protestant,  Gentile,  Jew, 

Eagerly  rendered  each  his  due; 

Republican,  Democrat,  "silver"  or  "gold", 

Prohibitionist,  Socialist,  whatever  his  fold; 

Men  of  the  east  and  men  of  the  west 

Flocking  to  us  from  the  lands  oppressed, 

Union,  or  non-union,  all  of  the  others, 

Whatever  their  stripe  are  brothers,  our  brothers, 

For  deeper  than  creed  and  deeper  than  skin 

Is  the  bond  that  makes  us  mortals  kin; 

Layman  or  cleric,  renowned  or  obscure, 

Bishop  or  mayor  or  servant  demure, 

Whatever  the  station  we  fill  on  the  earth, 

Secured  by  our  toil  or  accorded  our  birth, 

Under  all,  I'd  say  it  again  and  again, 

We're  made  in  God's  image,  we're  all  of  us  men. 

Of  like  aspiration,  endeavor  and  hope, 

With  life's  puzzling  problems  we  all  of  us  cope; 

And  each  has  a  right  to  the  kindliest  thought 

Of  all  who  with  him  in  time's  struggle  have  fought. 

In  a  courtesy  higher  and  sweeter  indeed, 

Our  knight  of  to-day  must  the  ancient  exceed. 

And  so  we  have  faith  in  the  knight  of  to-day 

As  never  surpassed  in  the  far  away; 

As  gaining  a  broader  view  indeed 

Of  humanity's  weal  and  humanity's  need; 

Linking  the  best  of  the  old  and  the  new, 

38 


And  to  loftiest  standards  ever  true; 
Finding  his  mission  in  fast  and  prayer, 
Faithfully  loving  one  lady  fair, 
Eager  to  succour  the  soul  distressed, 
Ready  to  fight  for  men  oppressed; 
Holding  the  stainless  banner  high, 
Prepared  if  need  arise  to  die 
Rather  than  suffer  the  sacred  trust 
To  trail  dishonored  in  the  dust; 
In  private  life  and  in  public  too 
For  the  noblest  ends  to  dare  and  do. 
Such  is  the  knight  that  we  love  and  praise 
In  these  the  grandest  and  best  of  days. 


39 


WELCOME   TO 
DR.  TIMOTHY  DWIGHT 

1887 

To  the  chaplet  love  is  weaving 
For  our  honored  guest  to-night, 

May  a  stranger  and  an  alien 
Add  with  reverence  his  mite? 

May  he  bring  a  sprig  of  laurel 
From  the  upper  Berkshire  hills, 

Where  the  classic  Muse  of  Bryant 
Murmurs  in  the  crystal  rills; 

Where  the  deathless  shade  of  Garfield 
Walks  beneath  the  bending  elms, 

And  where  Hopkins,  still  unwearied, 
Guides  through  philosophic  realms; 

Where  beneath  the  hoary  summits 
That  the  soul  with  awe  inspire, 

Learning  opens  wide  her  portals, 
Proudly  guards  her  vestal  fire; 

May  a  sprig  of  mountain  laurel 

With  your  nobler  growths  combine, 

As  a  coronet  of  honor 

For  illustrious  brows  you  twine? 

Great  the  privilege,  I  count  it, 
In  this  lustrous  hour  to  trail 

Just  a  bit  of  Williams  purple 
Underneath  the  blue  of  Yale. 

Yale  stands  sponsor  at  the  christening 
Of  the  child  among  the  hills; 

Gives  to  it  a  worthy  guardian, 
Who  his  place  with  honor  fills; 

40 


Even  then  from  her  abundance 
Kindly  making  others  rich; 

Thanks  to  her  for  grace  and  wisdom 
In  the  stately  Dr.  Fitch. 

He  was  trained  for  high  position, 
We  may  well  recall  to-night, 

'Mid  the  days  of  Revolution, 
By  the  learned  Tutor  Dwight. 

And  she  thither  sent  another 

Who  uncounted  souls  should  sway, 

In  the  radiant  years  that  followed, 
Tutor  Jeremiah  Day. 

And  she  gave  a  second  leader 
To  the  forces  there  arrayed, 

Dr.  Griffin,  "prince  of  preachers," 
Heart  of  fire,  of  manner  staid. 

And  at  last,  with  due  reluctance, 
She  has  yielded  to  his  own, 

Him  who  'mid  her  lustrous  circle 
With  a  native  brilliance  shone; 

Franklin  Carter,  not  unhonored 
In  the  place  that  gave  him  birth; 

Williams  owes  to  Yale  a  portion 
Of  his  princely  wealth  of  worth. 

Thus  throughout  the  century  finished, 
Yale  with  wisely  gracious  hand 

Has  enriched  the  institution 

That  adorns  our  northern  land. 

And  the  sons  of  Williams,  loyal, 
With  a  troth  that  cannot  fail, 

To  their  mother,  now  and  ever 
Venerate  her  mother,  Yale. 


41 


In  her    name  I  humbly  venture, 

With   unqualified   delight, 
To  present  her  salutations 

To  our  honored  guest  to-night. 

With  a  heritage  unequalled, 

Touched  with  power  from  ages  flown, 
He  rejoices  in  a  sweetness 

And  a  radiance  all  his  own. 

Keen  and  bright  as  blade  Damascus, 

Deep  with  philosophic  lore, 
Wont  in  loftiest  realms  of  fancy 

On  undaunted  wing  to  soar; 

Genial  as  a  Maytime  morning, 
With  a  heart  as  warm  as  sound, 

With  a  sympathy  inspiring 

And  a  grace  that  knows  no  bound; 

Loyal  to  the  past  and  clinging 
To  the  truth  it  held  so  dear; 

Yet  outlooking  for  the  dawning 
Of  a  morn  divinely  clear; 

Ever  waiting  for  the  coming 
Of  a  day  whose  cloudless  sheen 

Shall  all  truth  reveal  to  mortals, 
In  its  fair,  eternal  mien; 

Such  is  he  whose  presence  with  us 

We  a  benediction  call, 
And  whose  words  of  honied  wisdom 

On  our  ears  in  music  fall. 

Long  may  he  in  loftiest  station 
Sway  the  emblems  of  his  state; 

Yielding  to  the  world  of  letters 
Wealth  his  genius  shall  create; 

42 


Leading  to  a  grander  future 
Hosts  of  eager,  hopeful  youth, 

Opening  to  their  ravished  vision 
Hidden  glories  of  the  truth. 

Late  when  he  returns  to  heaven, 
To  the  rest  so  richly  won, 

May  he  leave  a  world  uplifted, 
With  its  golden  age  begun. 

So  the  alien  and  the  stranger 
To  the  commonwealth  of  Yale, 

With  a  loyalty  to  Williams 
That  can  never  faint  nor  fail, 

Begs  to  say,  with  deep  emotion, 
From  his  very  heart  to-night, 

God  bless  Yale  in  all  her  future, 
God  bless  glorious  Dr.  Dwight. 


43 


MEN  OF  THE  HILLS 

WILLIAMS  REUNION 

To-night  we  look  away 

To  the  far  hills  whence  came  our  strength, 
Whose  shadow  falls  upon  our  life 

Through  all  its  length. 

We  saw  them  in  the  glow 

Of  youth's  fair  morn,  enwrapped  in  rose 
And  all  the  dewy,  golden  grace 

That  fancy  knows. 

Brightly  that  vision  gleams 

Through  all  the  crowding,  bustling  years; 
Still  charming  is  the  picture  that 

To-night  appears. 

All  hail  the  glorious  hills, 

Which  dipped  in  heaven's  own  stainless  blue, 
With  ever  pure  and  radiant  tints 

Our  souls  imbue. 

Life  labor  means  and  care, 

But  every  loyal  spirit  thrills 
Whenever  gleam  upon  his  thought 

Those  classic  hills. 

God  bless  those  hights  serene 

And  the  bright  youth  who  gather  there, 
The  wondrous  view  that  they  afford 

Eager  to  share. 

While  gratitude  sincere 

For  the  glad  past  our  bosom  fills, 
May  we  not  proudly  call  ourselves 

"Men  of  the  Hills?" 


44 


Men  of  the  azure  hills ! 

Would  that  we  this  were  justly  thought, 
Moulded  where  loftiest  views  of  life 

Are  ever  taught; 

Where  lifted  from  the  plane 

Of  base  conceit  and  purpose  low, 

We  come  the  rarer  air  to  breathe, 
Its  joys  to  know; 

Men  of  the  sun- wrapped  hills, 

Where  shines  undimmed  the  light  of  truth 
Whose  beams  still  guide  and  gladden  all 

In  age  or  youth; 

Men  of  the  holy  hills, 

Where  haloed  saints  have  humbly  trod, 
And  from  those  altitudes  have  stepped 

To  be  with  God! 


SOME  OF  THE  MEN 

As  we  look  abroad  and  calmly  think 

Of  men  who  have  climbed  those  hights,   to  drink 

Of  the   springs   that   with   music  there  o'erflow 

And  send  refreshment  to  vales  below, 

Is  it  not  quite  clear  that  a  host  have  shown 

A  loftiness  that  was  all  their  own, 

A  character  that  could  fitly  claim 

''Men  of  the  Hills"  as  their  rightful  name? 

Men  that  above  the  mists  have  towered, 

Whom  God  with  highest  gifts  has  dowered, 

Who  with  a  purpose  and  view  sublime 

Have  wisely  and  nobly  served  their  time? 


45 


Shall  we  speak  of  the  Hopkins  brothers,  twain, 

Who  shone  with  a  light  that  will  still  remain 

While  Greylock  stands  encrowned  with  snow, 

Ruling  the  landscapes  far  below? 

Shall  we  speak  of  the  Fields  who  in  triple  force 

Have  so  illumined  their  famous  course? 

Of  Chadbourne,  who  nature  loved,  and  knew 

Where  the  first  meek  floweret  of  springtime  blew; 

The  man  of  affairs,  at  home  as  well 

In  the  halls  of  state  as  the  shaded  dell  ? 

Of  Garfield,  stepping  by  mighty  stride 

To  the  summit,  where,  glory -crowned,  he  died? 

Shall  we  speak  of  Bascom  who  flashes  light 

To  the  heart  of  the  problem  dark  as  night? 

Of  Gladden,  philosopher,  poet,  priest, 

Lecturer,  author,  and  not  the  least 

Of  those  who  the  public  conscience  guide 

To  the  point  where  justice  and  right  abide? 

Of  Dewey,  who  stands  where  Storrs  has  stood, 

With  mind  as  brilliant  and  heart  as  good? 

Of  Perry,  our  Bliss,  and  our  honest  pride, 

The  Neptune  who  sways  the  "Atlantic's"  tide? 

Of  Mabie,  the  genial  litterateur, 

His  soul  with  the  high  ideal  astir? 

Shall  we  speak  of  Dike  who  is  known  afar 

As  the  family's  lustrous,  guiding  star; 

The  man  who  is  welding  with  fadeless  force 

The  souls  that  coveted  swift  divorce? 

Of  Dole,  who  has  set  a  priceless  gem 

In  the  nation's  splendid  diadem? 

Of  Armstrong,  born  where  sun  and  wave 

Pacific's  islands  lovingly  lave, 

But  who  bravely  confronted  war's  grim  face 

That  he  might  rescue  a  captive  race, 

And  raise  to  manhood's  high  estate 

The  victims  of  a  cruel  fate? 


46 


Shall  we  speak  of  Carter's  keen-eyed  brain, 

Of  Cuthbert  Hall  and  the  Tracys  twain, 

Of  the  younger  Garfields  of  rising  fame 

Still  further  to  honor  an  honored  name? 

Of  Leupp,  who  is  steering  without  ado 

The  red  man's  often  wrecked  canoe, 

And  who  will  safely  force  its  way 

Though  rocks  and  rapids  its  course  would  stay? 

Of  the  Griffins,  presiding  with  genius  rare 

In  an  editor's  sanctum  or  savant's  chair? 

Of  Putney,  now  silent,  whose  legal  lore 

A  coveted  prize  to  the  college  bore? 

Shall  we  speak  of  our  Andrews,  calm  and  sweet, 

Sitting  in  age  at  the  Master's  feet, 

His  life  a  copy  in  radiant  lines 

Of  that  whose  glory  immortal  shines? 

Of  Elmore,  our  chieftain,  the  financier, 

Whose  heart  is  as  warm  as  his  head  is  clear, 

Who  marshals  our  clans  with  a  genial  grace 

And  governs  us  all  by  the  smile  on  his  face? 

Of  Smith,  his  companion,  judicial  or  gay 

In  his  moods,  as  is  fitting  the  passing  day? 

Of  Ranney,  enthroned  with  ability  meet, 

A  worthy  successor,  in  Bushnell's  proud  seat? 

Of  others  about  us,  still  others  away, 

Men  sturdily  meeting  the  needs  of  the  day, 

Alert  and  athletic  in  body  and  mind, 

Adorning,  inspiring  and  guiding  mankind; 

Of  these  would  we  speak  could  we  tarry  so  long, 

For  they  rise  up  before  us,  a  notable  throng. 

But  they  speak  for  themselves  in  the  place  that 

each  fills, 

And  prove  themselves  worthily  "  Men  of  the  Hills. " 
Men  who  have  stood  on  the  glorious  hights 
Where  the  soul  sees  its  heritage,  seizes  its  rights, 
Feels  its  pulses  athrob  with  an  impulse  divine, 
And  is  thrilled  with  a  zeal  that  shall  never  decline. 

47 


We  live  in  an  age  that  is  stirred  to  the  core 
With  an  eagerness  bent  on  the  capture  of  more! 
More  money,  more  knowledge,  more   power   to 

control 

The  forces  of  nature,  the  forces  of  soul. 
What's  needed  is  men  who  are  lofty  in  aim, 
Of  hearts  with  the  highest  ambition  aflame, 
Exalted  in  view,  too  exalted  to  yield 
To  the  tempter's  device  and  surrender  the  field; 
Not  stooping  to  methods  that  shrink  from  the 

light, 

For  selfish  advancement  disdaining  the  right; 
But  men  lifted  far  above  baseness  and  greed, 
Of  purified  thought  and  beneficent  deed. 

Is  not  this  the  time  for  the  "Men  of  the  Hills," 

Of  summit  ideals  and  granitelike  wills  ? 

Of  vision  as  broad  as  the  mountains  afford? 

Of  purposes  caught  where  the  eagles  have  soared? 

Of  serenity  such  as  the  ridges  uplift 

Where  the  shadow  and  sunlight  alternately  drift? 

Where  the  beautiful  cliffs  flash  with  rose  at  the 

dawn 

And  are  royally  purple  when  day  has  withdrawn? 
Where  the  hights  stand  in  majesty,  crowned  with 

their  gold 

As  the  treasures  and  splendors  of  noontide  unfold? 
At  the  vivid  remembrance  our  every  heart  thrills; 
Our  ambition  is  this,  to  be  "Men  of  the  Hills." 


48 


HEXAMETERS 

Winthrop  Davenport  Foster,  you  are  a  poet  by 

nature, 
Drawing  your  inspiration  from  those  who    have 

gone  before  you, 
Not  to  say  that  your  name  has  nothing  to  do  with 

the  matter! 
You  as  a  student  of  Homer,  sightless  old  singer  and 

dreamer, 
Enter  into  his  spirit  and  catch  the  vision   that 

charmed  him. 
Finely  you  render  his  verse,  giving  his  accent  and 

cadence, 

Giving  as  well  his  thought,  simple  yet  most  im 
pressive, 
Making  yourself  hexameters,  modeled  after   his 

pattern, 
Breathing  the  lofty  conception  even  as  he   has 

enshrined  it. 

Youth,  go  on  with  your  study,  carrying  it  to  com 
pleteness. 
Give  us  translations  of  Homer  worthy  the  artist 

immortal. 

Turn  the  whole  of  the  Iliad  into  hexameter  English, 
Then  begin  with  the  Odyssey,  story  of  far-famed 

Ulysses; 
Make  the  old  poet  resplendent  in  language  that's 

glowing 
And  throbbing  with  life,  e'en  life  of  the  twentieth 

century. 
So  shall  your  name  be  immortal  like  his  in  far-off 

Achaia, 
Who  sang  in  the  earliest  daydawn,  a  musical  bird 

of  the  twilight. 
Then  my  name  through  you  shall  be  lustrous  and 

shine  through  the  ages. 


49 


Send  me  more  snatches  of  music,  notes  from  your 
quivering  harpstrings, 

Prophecies  rich  of  your  triumph,  telling  already 
your  glory! 

I  shall  be  charmed  with  the  melody,  more  with 
your  purpose 

Every  hindrance  to  master  and  climb  to  the  sum 
mit 

Where  stand  the  victors  and  monarchs  in  splendor 
undying! 


EVOLUTION 

The  old  church  watched  the  new  one 

With  stern  and  critical  eye, 
As  through  the  golden  autumn 

It  lifted  itself  on  high, 
Never  its  gaze  for  a  moment 

Turned  from  the  growing  pile, 
Never  its  frowning  features 

Softened  into  a  smile. 

I  wondered  what  strange  emotions 

Were  stirring  the  ancient  fane; 
If  it  looked  at  its  brave  successor 

With  a  heart  of  grief  and  pain; 
If  cruel  envy  had  entered 

And  clung  to  the  altar's  side; 
If  a  bitter  and  jealous  hatred 

Had  ventured  there  to  hide. 

One  night,  while  the  city  slumbered, 
I  heard,  as  I  thought,  a  cry 

From  the  tower  of  the  ancient  temple, 
Tremulous,  sad  and  high; 


50 


A  voice  to  the  newly  risen : 
"  What  are  you  doing  there? 

What  do  you  mean  by  coming 
My  honor  and  toil  to  share?" 

And  out  from  the  comely  structure 

Of  brownstone  down  the  street, 
The  answer  came  in  a  moment, 

In  accents  mild  and  sweet: 
"My  honored  predecessor, 

From  Gothic  Hall  to  you 
Was  a  step  that  all  commended, 

A  move  to  wisdom  due; 

And  now  from  you  to  me,  friend, 

With  my  decked,  substantial  wall, 
Is  another  step  of  progress, 

Approved  by  judges  all. 
I  scarcely  need  remind  one 

So  old  as  you  and  sage, 
That  'theistic  evolution' 

Is  the  watchword  of  the  age." 


51 


AN  EXPERIENCE 

I  entered  a  gloomy  valley 

Where  the  air  was  damp  and  chill, 
And  the  dewdrops  seemed  like  teardrops 

As  they  heavy  hung  and  still; 
And  my  soul  was  as  dark  as  the  shadows 

That  lay  in  the  somber  vale, 
And  the  fears  that  sprang  within  me 

Bade  hope  and  courage  fail. 

Hither  and  thither  I  wandered, 

And  gloomier  grew  the  way, 
And  I  said,  "Here  ends  the  journey, 

I  never  shall  find  the  day;" 
And  visions  of  sunny  hilltops 

Where  I'd  breathed  enchanted  air 
And  glimpses  of  vanished  beauty 

Were  haunting  me  to  despair. 

A  horrible  night  oppressed  me 

And  I  know  not  what  befell, 
Yet  misery  hid  in  its  grimness 

That  tongue  nor  pen  could  tell; 
But  at  length, — I  was  wearily  conscious 

Of  a  glimmer  of  rosy  dawn, 
And  that  some  of  the  shadows  near  me 

Were  thinning,  and  some  were  gone. 

Above,  on  a  tree-branch,  a  songster 

Burst  forth  into  melody  sweet; 
A  tremor  of  hope  stirred  within  me, 

I  wonderingly  rose  to  my  feet; 
And  lo,  just  before  me  the  pathway 

That  led  from  the  valley  of  gloom, 
Inviting  my  feet  to  the  uplands 

Aflame  with  their  sunshine  and  bloom ! 


I  passed  to  their  beauty  and  brightness, 

I  stand  on  their  hights  to-day; 
With  eyes  dim  with  voiceless  emotion 

I  gaze  o'er  the  terror-strewn  way; 
And  my  prayer  is,  "God  take  it  and  use  it, 

The  life  that  was  brought  so  low; 
God  guide  to  the  light  all  who  wander 

Dismayed  in  the  valley  of  woe!" 


53 


THE  WILTON  PULPIT 

Its  Surroundings  and  Associations 

What  sacred  and  tender  memories  throng 

This  consecrated  space! 
Cherubic  and  glorious  wings  must  e'er 

O'ershadow  the  holy  place. 

O  many  a  sanctified,  blessed  spot 

This  beautiful  earth  can  boast; 
But  to  scores  here  met, — this  Altar  of  God 

Is  the  place  that  is  hallowed  most. 

A  mantle  of  glory  descends 

On  those  who  minister  here, 
Whose  radiant  folds  have  ever  wrapped 

The  worthy  and  the  dear. 

No  surplice  of  shimmering  white 

Nor  robe  that  a  prelate  wore, 
Compares  with  this  tribute  of  love  and  power 

From  those  who  have  gone  before. 

Forgive  me,  but  I  recall 

A  day  when  this  mantle  of  might 
Less  warmly  I  here  desired,  than  one 

That  should  bury  me  out  of  sight. 

For  on  this  very  desk 

As  an  altar  of  sacrifice, 
My  first-born  sermon  I  offered  up 

With  countless  fears  and  sighs. 

Paul  spoke  of  the  "feeble  knees," 

And  I  well  knew  what  he  meant. 
For  mine  beneath  their  weight  of  woe 

Like  reeds  in  a  tempest  bent. 


And  David  tells  of  the  tongue 

That  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  the  mouth, 

And  mine  seemed  firmly  packed 
In  the  dust  of  an  August  drouth. 

"You'll  find  my  text,"  said  I, 

And  thereupon  all  grew  dim, 
And  I  scarce  could  tell  if  'twas  Holy  Writ 

That  I  needed  to  give  or  a  hymn ! 

And  the  congregation  danced 

And  whirled  in  a  curious  way, 
Decidedly  festive,  it  seemed  to  me, 

For  the  holy  Sabbath  day. 

And  I  thought, — an  earthquake  now, 

If  such  a  thing  could  be, — 
Would  bring  a  fitting  reward  to  them 

And  a  great  relief  to  me! 

My  heart, — it  quaked  instead, 

And  I  labored  my  sermon  through, 

And  it  seemed  that  ere  I  could  say  "Amen," 
The  sunset  would  be  due. 

But  the  agony  closed  at  last, 

And  I  found  as  I  went  away, 
That  while  I  claimed  to  have  suffered, 

The  people  thought  it  was  they! 

And  so  this  sacred  desk 

O'er  which  bright  memories  break, 
I  still  must  regard,  somewhat, 

As  the  martyr  regards  the  stake. 


FIRST  CHURCH,  WATERBURY 

1891 

One  night  I  was  sitting  on  Center  square 
Charmed  with  the  scene  that  is  ever  fair, 
Watching  the  elms  in  their  silvery  glow, 
And  their  shadows  flung  on  the  grass  below; 
Noting  the  bronzes,  tall  and  grand, 
That  grace  the  common  on  either  hand. 
But  little  I  thought  of  the  eager  life 
With  which  the  beautiful  scene  was  rife; 
The  pictures  wrought  in  the  evening's  glow 
Suggested  others  of  long  ago. 

While  I  was  looking,  St.  John's  sweet  bell 
To  the  present  recalled  with  its  lingering  knell, 
Proclaiming  afar  that  another  hour 
Had  passed  beyond  human  reach  and  power. 
The  radiant  picture  again  I  knew, 
To  fact,  not  fancy,  its  features  true. 
"I  must  leave,"  said  I;  when  near  me  drew, 
As  I  thought,  a  figure  in  somber  hue, 
Of  style  antique  and  of  saintly  air, 
And  of  face  as  dignified  as  fair. 
A  startled  look  filled  his  searching  eyes 
As  of  gravest  doubt  or  of  wild  surprise. 
W'ith  courtesy  bowing,  he  eagerly  said, 
"  In  just  returning  from  realms  of  the  dead 
I  sought  to  discover  again  the  place, 
Familiar  so  long  with  my  form  and  face. 
And  I  thought  it  was  here,  but  all  I  can  see 
Appears  but  a  puzzling  mystery. 
Name  for  me,  sir,  if  you  will,  this  town; " 
Astonished,  I  said,  "It  has  great  renown; 
Do  you  carry  a  watch?"  and  the  words  we  sing 
Regarding  the  "everlasting  spring" 
Suggested  their  most  irrelevant  rhyme. 
But  I  murmured,  "You  take  no  note  of  time. 
'Tis  Waterbury  town,"  said  I, 
56 


"A  place  where  so  many  would  live  and  die 

That  real  estate  is  exceedingly  high; 

Where  brass  is  moulded  to  forms  untold, 

And  ever  transmuted  to  shining  gold; 

Where  hammer  and  anvil  ne'er  cease  to  ring, 

Nor  busiest  wheels  to  whirl  and  sing, 

Where", — but  he  stopped  me.     "Somewhere  here 

I  preached  the  gospel  for  many  a  year 

But  just  where  it  was  I'm  not  so  clear. 

I  thought  I  remembered  the  sacred  spot, 

But  going  thither,  my  soul  waxed  hot 

At  finding  uplifted  against  the  sky 

A  brazen  horse  on  an  altar  high, 

An  idol  vaunting  itself  just  there 

Where  I  warned  them  of  idols  to  beware. 

Shocked  at  the  horrible  sight  I  had  seen, 

I  fled  to  the  opposite  end  of  the  Green, 

When,  lo,  on  another  altar  there 

The  form  of  a  woman  appeared  in  air. 

Whether  Fate  or  Fury  I  could  not  tell, 

Or  Diana  of  Ephesus,  noted  well, 

Or  the  Virgin  Mary,  or  other  dame; 

But  my  soul  was  crushed  with  the  awful  shame. 

And  I  saw,  and  no  grief  could  equal  mine, 

The  lighted  candles  about  her  shrine. 

Oh,  tell  me,  sir,  can  it  truly  be, 

That  this  town  has  lapsed  to  idolatry?" 

"Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  with  stifled  laugh, 

"Don't  take  our  horse  for  a  golden  calf. 

We  never  worship  yon  prancing  steed, 

Preferring  a  record  for  better  speed. 

And  as  for  the  woman  over  there, 

With  the   coronet   circling  her  nut-brown   hair, 

It's  Victory,  holding  the  wreath  of  bays 

For  the  heroes  worthy  of  deathless  praise. 

If  a  woman  we  worshipped,  we'd  bow  the  knee 

To  a  creature  of  not  so  high  metal  as  she. 

57 


But  please,  sir,  who  are  you?"  I  now  inquired, 

For  to  know  the  quaint  visitor  I  aspired. 

Said  he,  "When  I  threaded  this  spacious  park 

And  here  was  abiding,  they  called  me  Mark. 

Through  more  than  a  century's  half  I  stood 

For  all  I  thought  noble  and  pure  and  good, 

And  tried,  with  such  powers  as  I  had,  to  win 

The  people  I  loved  from  the  grasp  of  sin. 

The  fruit  of  my  labor  I  do  not  know ; 

They've  wholly  forgotten,  all,  long  ago, 

The  earnest  w^ords  that  I  uttered  here, 

And  him  who  spake  them,  I  greatly  fear. 

All  is  so  changed;  it  cannot  be 

That  Waterbury  remembers  inc. " 

"Why,  Rev.  Mark  Lea ven worth, "  I  replied; 

"Your  name  and  your  influence  have  not  died. 

The  seeds  of  truth  that  you  planted  here 

Yield  blossom  and  fruitage,  year  by  year. 

Look  over  this  busy,  progressive  town, 

Extending  the  fertile  valley  down, 

And  climbing  the  slopes  to  the  sunny  hight 

That  wratches  and  guards  us  on  left  and  right; 

Consider  the  palaces  here  of  toil, 

The  beautiful  homes  that  garland  the  soil, 

The  buildings  reared  for  the  children's  weal, 

And  the  temples  where  thousands  humbly  kneel; 

Observe  how  the  bustle  of  life  is  here 

With  its  ceaseless  vigor  and  hope  and  cheer, 

And  in  all  that  is  best  in  this  noble  town 

You've  a  right  to  discover  your  own  renown. 

You  and  the  others  laid  broad  and  sure 

Foundation  stones  that  will  ever  endure. 

Integrity  flawless  and  purpose  true, 

The  justice  that  never  withholds  the  due, 

A  public  spirit  that's  high  and  strong, 

Conscience  to  scuttle  the  public  wrong, 

Regard  for  the  welfare  of  man  that  sees 

Far  over  the  bounds  of  present  ease, — 

58 


All  these  in  the  early  days  you  taught 

And  thus  for  the  future  you  grandly  wrought. 

Your  life  'mid  these  latest,  most  stirring  days, 

Goes  throbbing  on  through  our  crowded  ways, 

And  Waterbury's  responsive  still 

To  the  force  of  your  sturdy  and  manly  will." 

The  old  man  smiled,  and  he  asked,  "But  where 
Now  worship  the  people  of  my  care?" 
I  pointed  at  once  to  the  graceful  spire 
All  flooded  and  gilt  with  electric  fire; 
"Here  in  a  temple  both  rich  and  strong 
Your  dear  old  Church  is  uplifting  its  song 
And  worshiping  Him  with  reverent  soul 
Who  lives  unchanged  while  the  ages  roll. " 
"But  who  stands  now  where  I  stood,  to  tell 
The  slippery  ways  that  lead  to  hell?" 
"One  Joseph  now  points  to  the  heavenly  bliss, 
And  urges  the  people  to  strive  for  this. " 
"Not  Joseph  Bellamy  here  returned, 
A  mightier  logic  having  learned? 
Ah,  here  he  would  often  weave  his  chain 
From  a  fervid  heart  and  glowing  brain, 
And  with  it  would  leave  his  listeners  bound 
As  under  a  magic  spell  profound. 
He  cannot  be  here  again  to  show 
The  ills  that  the  non -elect  shall  know?" 
"That  Bethlehem  star  is  set,"  I  said, 
"Your  ancient  Bellamy's  with  the  dead. 
Perchance  were  he,  sainted,  to  come  again 
To  labor  on  earth  for  the  souls  of  men, 
He  long  might  live  as  a  man  at  large, 
Enrolled  as  a  minister  'without  charge.' 
The  world  has  been  moving  as  you  must  know 
Since  he,  sir,  and  you  in  death  lay  low. 
Old  issues  are  passing,  new  truths  appear, 
Earth's  vision  is  broadening  year  by  year. 
The  clergyman  stands  of  his  age  a  part, 
The  product  of  forces  that  pulse  in  its  heart, 
Athrill  with  its  thought  and  aglow  with  its  zeal, 
59 


Discerning  the  false  and  embracing  the  real 
That  leap  into  view  at  the  turn  of  the  wheel. 
His  sensitive  spirit  is  pained  with  the  need 
Of  society  given  to  lust  and  to  greed, 
And  he  eagerly  lifts  to  the  view  of  mankind 
The  perfect  ideal,  the  heavenly  mind, 
Strength  wedded  with  gentleness,  virtue  unpriced, 
The  splendor  of  manhood,  the  crown  of  the  Christ. 
And  thus,  while  its  product,  he  fashions  his  age, 
And  leads  ever  up  to  a  worthier  stage; 
His  voice  as  the  trumpet  whose  musical  peal 
To  conflict  calls  onward,  to  conquest  as  real. 
Our  Joseph,  succeeding  you  here,  we  esteem 
As  a  man  for  his  time,  in  his  office  supreme, 
Awake  to  the  truth  and  the  need  of  the  hour 
And  bringing  to  duty  high  culture  and  power." 
My  visitor  listened,  and  studied  the  while 
The  church   uplifting  its  shadow-wreathed  pile. 
He  seemed  to  be  dreaming  of  years  that  are  past 
As  he  waited  in  silence;  then  suddenly  asked, 
"How  solves  he  the  question,  profound  and  sub 
lime, 

The  deepest  and  grandest  inquiry  of  time? 
I  mean,  sir,"  now  turning  in  wonder  to  me, 
"How  God  can  be  sovereign  and  man  can  be  free; 
The  question  we  struggled   with,  year  after  year 
And  settled  with  logic  as  weighty  as  clear, 
And  found,  having  ended  and  laid  down  our  pen, 
That  the  question  was  there  to  be  settled  again. 
Has  this  my  successor,  'mid  time's  evolution, 
Secured  what  is  truly  a  valid  solution?" 

"He's  come  quite  as  near  it, "  I  answered,  "as  man 

In  the  dim  light  of  earth  ever  needs  to,  or  can. 

A  word  that  explains  it  has  dropped  from  above, 

As  sweet  as  the  music  of  angels;  'tis  Love. 

The  love  of  the  Father  that  streams  to  the  earth 

Brings  sunshine  and  beauty  and  gladness  to  birth. 

Incarnate  in  verdure,  in  blossom,  in  song, 

60 


In  perfume  and  tint  that  to  summer  belong, 
In  the  sweetness  of  meadow,  the  luster  of  sky, 
The  glory  of  worlds  that  sweep  silently  by, — 
This  love  from  the  fathomless  spirit  divine, 
Doth  man  in  its  tenderness  ever  enshrine; 
Awakens  his  pulses  and  nurtures  the  flame 
That  flashes  and  glows  in  his  marvelous  frame; 
Endows  him  with  passion  and  eager  desire, 
With  affections  that  thrill  arid  hopes  that  inspire; 
Gives  home  for  his  solace,  the  world  for  his  field 
That  shall  discipline,  skill  and  development  yield; 
Bestows  princely  honor  through  all  of  life's  span, 
Conferring  the  freedom  that  makes  him  a  man. 
Love  maketh  him  free,  and  love  sits  on  the  throne 
Claiming  sovereignity  full  and  forever  its  own. 
So  to  us  freedom  here  and  dominion  above 
Are  but  phases  of  one  indivisible  love." 
A  shake  of  his  head  made  me  feel,  I  confess, 
That  my  speaking  for  Joseph  was  not  a  success. 


61 


THE  PURITAN  MINISTER'S   COURTSHIP 

"'Twos  here  I  won  the  maid,"  he  said, 

"I  well  recall  the  hour 
When  first  she  on  my  bosom  lay, 

A  pure  and  perfect  flower. 

'Twas  in  the  glowing  summer-time 

When  skies  were  blue  and  gold, 
And  heavenly  peace  seemed  everywhere 

Creation  to  enfold. 

I'd  just  received  an  urgent  call 

To  preach  the  gospel  here, 
But  felt  that  first  of  all  the  flock 

I  must  secure  her  ear. 

The  shadows  pointed  toward  the  east 

Whence  glories  new  should  dawn; 
I  looked  for  glory  to  my  soul 

Ere  daylight  should  be  gone. 

With  throbbing  heart  I  hither  came, 

Uncertain  of  my  fate, 
Eager,  yet  loath  to  pass  within 

Her  father's  wicket  gate. 

Just  here,  beside  the  cottage  wall, 

The  clustering  lilacs  made 
A  bower  of  beauty  and  of  peace 

Enwrapped  in  deepest  shade. 

What  was  my  joy  to  see  the  girl 

Sit  spinning  here  alone, 
As  dignified  and  calm  and  sweet 

As  queen  upon  her  throne. 


Her  profile  only  was  in  view, 

But  this  was  classic  grace; 
And  filmy  wreaths  of  sunny  hair 

Bordered  the  noble  face. 

I  saw  that  while  she  twirled  the  wheel, 

Her  eyes  would  oft  incline 
To  letters  which  I  recognized 

(O  blessed  fact !)  as  mine. 

Against  the  background  of  the  years 

That  picture  still  I  see, — 
The  maiden  at  her  spinning-wheel, 

So  beautiful  to  me. 

Her  robe  was  homespun,  white  and  blue, 

Her  folded  kerchief  gray, 
Her  snowy  apron  wrought  with  flowers, 

The  apple-blooms  of  May. 

Her  brow  was  decked  with  dainty  cap, 
A  rosebud  gemmed  her  breast; 

She  wore  a  look  of  thoughtfulness 
And  yet  of  peace  and  rest. 

She  charmed  me  as  I  stood  and  gazed, 
She  seemed  so  pure  and  fair; 

I  could  have  thought  an  angel  sat 
In  her  old  oaken  chair. 

'O  Ruth,  my  Ruth,'  at  length  I  said, 

And  hastened  to  her  side; 
'I've  come  to  give  you  all  my  heart, 

And  pray  you  be  my  bride.' 

She  started,  and  the  mantling  blush 

Rose  over  cheek  and  brow; 
'Will  you  be  mine?'  I  eager  said, 

'O  tell  me,  tell  me  now.' 


63 


She  sat  me  down  beside  her  there 

Within  the  lilacs'  shade, 
And  said,  'Of  that  of  which  you  speak 

I  earnestly  have  prayed. 

And  yet  I  cannot  clearly  see 
The  way  my  feet  should  tread, 

And  know  not  if  my  heart  be  right 
In  urging  me  to  wed. 

Our  God  has  called  you  to  a  course 

Of  duty  grand  and  high, 
A  work  too  lofty  to  be  shared 

With  one  so  weak  as  I. 

I  think  I  love  the  holy  Lord, 

And  wish  His  will  to  do; 
And  so  I  wait  the  certain  sign 

That  I  should  go  with  you.' 

'Ruth,  let  us  pray,'  I  humbly  said; 

We  fell  upon  our  knees; 
I  heard  the  robin's  happy  song, 

The  whisper  of  the  trees. 

'O  Thou,  whose  mighty  reign  is  love, 

Reveal  to  us  Thy  way, 
O  take  us,  guide  us  as  Thou  wilt, 

Unitedly  we  pray.' 

As  we  uprose,  Ruth  turned  to  me 
And  placed  her  hand  in  mine; 

'I'm  yours,'  she  said,  'my  soul  receives 
The  Master's  holy  sign. 

For,  as  you  prayed,  a  glory  fell 
That  filled  my  raptured  heart, 

And  in  it  came  a  voice  to  me: 
With  him  till  death  shall  part.' 

64 


She  laid  her  cheek  upon  my  breast, 

Her  eyes  agleam  with  bliss, 
And  then  with  holy  tenderness 

I  gave  the  virgin  kiss. 

And  nature  seemed  athrill  with  song, 

Rose-fragrance  filled  the  air, 
A  brighter  sun  was  pouring  down 

Its  glory  everywhere. 

The  months  rolled  by,  and  when  at  length 

I  here  found  blest  employ, 
A  bride  I  brought  her  to  my  home, 

My  youth's  sweet  strength  and  joy." 


65 


NORWALK,  1901 

Two  Hundred  and  Fiftieth  Anniversary 

We've  come  to  a  sweet  and  hallowed  time 

When  the  past  broods  o'er  the  town 
And  wakes  again  the  scenes  and  men 

Of  conflict  and  renown. 
A  dreamy  light  is  on  the  bay 

And  its  rippling  waters  tell 
Of  clumsy  craft  and  homespun  sail 

Which  once  they  knew  so  well. 
The  hills  stand  silent  as  if  in  thought, 

In  their  ancient  robe  of  green, 
And  lift  their  heads  as  if  to  speak 

Of  the  things  that  they  have  seen. 
There  are  murmured  tales,  if  we  understood, 

In  the  sobbing  of  the  rills, 
And  every  vale  and  slope  and  wood 

With  retrospection  thrills. 
Colonial  homes  exult  to-day 

In  their  heritage  of  years, 
And  boast  superior  style,  while  each 

At  modern  structures  sneers. 
And  up  in  their  attics,  as  I  suspect, 

While  there's  no  one  there  to  see, 
All   "Grandma's  treasures"   are  prone  to  share 

In  a  burst  of  old-time  glee. 
The  great  wheel  says  to  the  linen-wheel, 

"Let's  honor  these  passing  days," 
And  they  whirl  in  a  jig  while  the  snapping  reel 

Keeps  time  to  their  merry  maze; 
And  the  warming  pan  with  its  cymbal  lid 

Applauds  as  they  chasse, 
And  the  footstove  rattles  its  ashes  cold 

In  a  musical  sort  of  way. 
And  the  bellows  flutter  the  blackened  herbs 

That  hang  from  the  garret  wall, 


66 


And  the  boneset  leaves  and  the  motherwort 

Into  the  cradle  fall. 
And  the  ancient  churn  that  has  rested  long 

Its  dasher  lifts  once  more, 

While  the  straight-backed  chairs  join  arms  and 
skip 

O'er  the  blackened  oaken  floor; 
And  the  shell  that  used  to  sweep  the  fields 

With  its  clear-toned  call  to  dine, 
Says  to  the  brass-nailed,  oxhide  trunk, 

"Your  style's  as  loud  as  mine." 
And  the  pewter  platters  clap  their  hands, 

And  the  old  blue  pitcher  dreams 
Of  the  times  gone  by  when  its  nose  was  whole 

And  it  caught  the  cider  streams; 
And  grandfather's  clock  that  stands  apart, 

With  its  hands  before  its  face, 
With  a  desperate  effort  strikes  the  hour 

With  much  of  its  former  grace. 
0  these  are  days,  we  may  well  believe, 

Of  honest  and  hearty  mirth, 
WTith  all  that  in  far-off  golden  years 

Can  boast  exalted  birth. 


67 


THE  YOUNG  PURITAN'S  WOOING 

Across  the  road  from  father's  house 

The  Matthew  Marvins  dwelt, 
And  Sarah  was  the  girl  for  whom 

A  deep  regard  I  felt. 
And  as  the  years  rolled  on  and  we 

Together  talked  and  played, 
And  often  through  the  open  fields 

And  by  the  water  strayed, 
That  "deep  regard"  of  mine  increased 

Until  I  came  to  feel 
That  if  I  had  her  faithful  love 

'Twould  all  my  sorrows  heal. 
I  thought  that  with  her  company 

My  life,  though  filled  with  care, 
Would  blossom  out  in  loveliness 

And  fruit  immortal  bear. 
For  Sarah  was  as  sweet  a  girl 

As  ever  breathed  the  air, 
As  graceful  as  a  forest  rose, 

And  just  as  bright  and  fair. 
Her  cheeks  were  pink  as  dawning  day, 

Her  hair  wras  finest  gold, 
Her  eyes  were  blue  as  ocean  waves, 

Her  charm  could  ne'er  be  told. 
One  springtime,  'twas  in  '79, 

If  I  remember  right, 
And  just  a  day  like  this,  when  earth 

And  sky  were  wondrous  bright; 
I  in  the  furrow  left  the  plough, 

I  had  no  heart  for  work, 
Though  none  had  ever  dared  to  call 

Young  Thomas  Betts  a  "shirk." 
Across  the  path  I  went  in  haste, 

And  Sarah  asked,  if  she 
That  afternoon  would  take  a  walk 

Away  down  by  the  sea. 


68 


I  told  her  that  the  samphire  then 

Had  reached  a  goodly  size, 
And  that  with  quantities  thereof 

Her  mother  we'd  surprise. 
She  was  agreed,  and  so  we  came 

And  reached  this  very  spot, 
And  of  the  sea-washed  succulent 

Gathered  a  generous  lot. 
And  then  we  sat  upon  the  point 

Where  we  are  met  to-day, 
And  heard  the  waters  lap,  and  saw 

Them  sparkle  far  away. 
And  after  hitching  all  about, 

And  struggling  with  a  cough, 
And  sitting  close  to  her  and  then 

Removing  farther  off, 
At  length  I  said,  "You,  Sarah,  know," 

And  then  my  courage  fell, 
"You,  Sarah,  know — how  pleasant  'tis 

To  see  the  waters  swell. 
No,  no,  it  isn't  that  I'd  say, 

But  that  you  know  full  well, 
How  pleasant  'tis  down  by  the  sea 

A  little  time  to  dwell! 
For  shame"  I  cried,  "You,  Sarah,  know, 

What  I  can  never  tell, 
But  though  I  have  a  stumbling  tongue, 

My  heart  it  loves  you  well. 
And  I  have  long  desired  to  learn 

If  you  will  be  my  wife, 
And  bring  a  heavenly  charm  and  joy 

Into  my  lonely  life. " 
She  sat  in  all  her  radiant  youth 

Where  you  are  sitting  now, 
With  dreamy  eyes  and  glowing  cheek 

And  calm  and  thoughtful  brow; 
And  she  replied,  "You're  dear  to  me, 

And  that  you  well  must  know, 


69 


For  the  sweet  secret  of  my  heart 

I'm  sure  I  could  but  show. 
But  is  it  meet  that  with  our  love 

Life's  fleeting  years  we  fill? 
Has  it  for  us  been  thus  decreed? 

Is  it  the  Father's  will? 
We  must,  in  fear,  our  souls  prepare 

For  pleasures  that  endure, 
And  make  our  calling,  'mid  earth's  scenes, 

And  our  election  sure. 
I've  asked  that  God  would  guide  aright 

In  these  affairs  of  mine, 
And  yet,  if  He  have  heard  my  prayer, 

He  gives  no  certain  sign. 

0  that  while  here  in  joy  we  meet 
Beside  the  laughing  sea, 

Some  token  might  be  given  us 

If  you  are  meant  for  me : 
Look,  Thomas,  see  yon  rock  that  lifts 

Its  head  above  the  wave, 

1  wonder  if  its  rugged  hight 
The  rising  tide  will  lave. 

Let's  pray  that  if  it  be  His  will 

That  you  be  wholly  mine, 
That  rock,  ere  night,  shall  hide  itself 

Beneath  the  crystal  brine. " 
And  so  we  asked  that  He  whose  hand 

Directs  the  shifting  tide 
Might  thus  declare  if  'twere  His  will 

That  she  should  be  my  bride. 
And  then  we  watched,  O  slowly  rose 

The  waters  of  the  bay, 
Never  so  slowly  as  upon 

That  far-off,  fateful  day! 
We  sat  in  silence,  knowing  well 

How  much  the  signal  meant, 
And  all  my  soul  in  pleading  prayer 

To  heaven  for  mercy  went! 


70 


Slowly,  so  slowly  rose  the  tide, 

Yet  steadily  it  came, 
While  over  it  the  western  skies 

Burst  into  gorgeous  flame. 
At  last,  the  waters  swept  the  rock ! 

They  settled  o'er  its  head! 
They  hid  it  'neath  their  blessed  waves! 

"It  is  His  will,"  she  said. 
And  while  the  wavelets  leaped  and  laughed 

And  splendor  filled  the  skies, 
A  look  of  heavenly  rapture  stole 

Into  her  soulful  eyes. 
"Let's  praise  our  gracious  God, "  I  said, 

Our  voices  blent  in  one 
As  grateful  psalm  we  sang,  and  gazed 

Upon  the  setting  sun. 
"The  sea  is  His;  He  made  its  waves; 

He  lifts  them  at  His  will; 
And  sea  and  land  and  storm  and  sun 

His  purposes  fulfill." 
At  length  we  took  the  samphire  home, 

Our  errand  a  success; 
But  no  one  knew  what  joy  had  come 

Our  inmost  souls  to  bless. 
In  violet  tints  the  twilight  glowed, 

The  west  was  shining  still, 
And  from  the  forest  swept  the  note 

Of  happy  whip-poor-will. 
"Tis  heaven  begun,"  my  Sarah  cried; 

"My  soul  exultant  sings; 
Yon  sunset  clouds  seem  seraphs  bright 

Afloat   on   snowy   wings." 


71 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  PIONEER 

He  never  heard  the  rhythmic  fire 
Of  odes  and  idyls  that  inspire 
From  Tennyson's  immortal  lyre. 

He  never  trod  the  heathered  hight 

With  Burns,  nor  caught  his  fancies  bright, 

Nor  shared  the  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night." 

And  Walter  Scott  ne'er  charmed  him  so 
With  "Kenilworth"  and  "Ivanhoe," 
That  he  forgot  to  plough  and  sow. 

Mark  Twain  ne'er  moved  him  to  a  laugh, 
Nor  Dudley  Warner  bade  him  quaff 
His  humor-pathos,  half  and  half. 

America's  great  authors   all 
Appeared  upon  this  earthly  ball 
Too  late  to  answer  to  his  call. 

He  never  knew  the  struggle  great 
As  presidential  candidate 
Ascends  to  his  imperial  state! 

In  fact  as  we  his  life  recall . 

So  destitute  as  to  appall, 

We  wonder  that  he  lived  at  all ! 

And  yet,  the  vital  things  he  saw, 
The  majesty  of  moral  law 
Ordained  of  God  without  a  flaw; 

The  law  of  man,  that  subtle  force 
That  binds  the  cultured  and  the  coarse, 
As  sacred  as  its  heavenly  source; 


These  he  essential  did  esteem, 

And  sought  to  realize  his  dream 

Of  law  enthroned  and  made  supreme. 

The  depths  of  human  love  he  knew, 
The  passion  pure  and  sweet  and  true, 
That  yields  its  object  homage  due. 

As  lover  he  was  all  aflame, 

As  husband,  faithful  to  his  dame, 

As  father,  worthy  of  the  name. 

And  in  his  soul  a  faith  sublime 
Reached  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  time 
And  dared  the  throne  eternal  climb. 

"The  man  with  the  hoe,"  but  not  "a  clod," 
His  face  he  lifted  from  the  sod, 
A  lover  and  a  child  of  God! 

He  worshiped  as  he  trod  the  strand 
Or  turned  the  furrows  of  his  land 
Or  sowed  the  seed  with  liberal  hand. 

The  daisies  still  with  dewdrops  wet, 
The  lilies  'mid  the  grasses  set, 
The  roses  in  the  wild  wood  met; 

The  iris  by  the  river's  brink, 
The  flute-notes  of  the  bobolink, 
The  shaded  brooklet's  pensive  clink; 

The  daybreak  rose,  the  sunset  gold, 
The  spheres  along  the  midnight  rolled, 
Of  an  almighty  Sovereign  told. 

Of  Him  he  ever  stood  in  awe; 
His  radiant  righteousness  he  saw 
And  feared  the  thunders  of  His  law. 


73 


And,  far  above  this  earthly  sod, 

Yet  brightening  all  the  paths  he  trod, 

Behold,  the  kingdom  of  His  God! 

Upon  these  shores  he  saw  it  rise, 
Decked  with  the  glory  of  the  skies, 
And  voiced  with  notes  of  Paradise. 

Perhaps  it  was  presumptuous  sin 
To  think  that  he  might  enter  in 
To  that  which  the  elect  should  win. 

And  yet  he  prayed  and  struggled  on, 
The  flesh  denied,  and  hoped  anon 
That  he  celestial  robes  might  don. 

Meanwhile  the  humble  pioneer 
The  firm  foundations  settled  here 
On  which  we've  rested  many  a  year. 

Ever  to  his  convictions  true, 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew 
The  while  the  busy  decades  flew. 

And  then  he  passed,  his  labor  done, 
And  at  the  setting  of  the  sun 
Found  God's  eternal  day  begun! 


74 


A  PURITAN  WEDDING 

Davenport — Bishop,  Sept.  6,  1722 

Where  now  stands  a  noble  mansion, 

Crowned  with  stately,  windowed  tower, 

I  upon  a  humble  cabin 

Labored  many  a  weary  hour. 

And  when  it  was  wholly  finished, 
And  the  latchstring  hanging  out, 

And,  beneath,  the  valleys  blooming 
And  the  hills  all  green  about; 

In  the  colony  there  was  not, 
Wheresoever  one  might  roam, 

By  the  sea  or  in  the  inland, 
Any  cosier,  prettier  home. 

But,  as  yet,  the  house  was  empty, 
Which  of  course  no  house  should  be, 

And  a  maiden  down  in  Stamford 
Had  engaged  to  marry  me. 

So  I  thought  that  as  the  fullness 
Of  the  times  had  surely  come, 

And  the  nest  was  waiting  for  her, 
I  would  bring  my  Sarah  home. 

Paradise  just  lent  its  beauty 

To  the  day  that  made  us  one, 
Verdant  earth  and  placid  waters 

Smiled  beneath  the  cloudless  sun. 

Shall  I  tell  you,  curious  ladies, 

How  my  bonny  bride  was  dressed? 

Pearly  robe  of  sUk  enwrapped  her, 
And  a  kerchief  crossed  her  breast; 


75 


And  she  wore  a  snowy  apron, 
Lawn  her  needle  had  enriched 

With  a  choice  and  flowery  pattern 
All  about  its  border  stitched. 

And  I  wore  a  garb  of  homespun, 
Fruit  of  precious  mother's  toil; 

Dearer  far  to  me  than  velvet 
Bought  for  gold  on  foreign  soil. 

All  the  youths  and  maidens  gathered, 
With  their  gifts  and  with  their  glee; 

And  each  man  among  them  told  me 
That  he  deeply  envied  me! 

Solemn  were  the  words  and  tender 
That  my  father  spoke  that  day, 

As  our  hands  were  joined  together 
And  our  lives  were  linked  for  aye. 

Then  when  eastward  fell  the  shadow 
Of  the  maple  on  the  moor, 

Friends  we  bade  farewell,  and  started 
On  our  homeward  bridal  tour. 

'Twas  a  stalwart  steed  that  bore  us, 
Light  to  him  the  double  load; 

Soon  the  village  fled  behind  us, 
And  right  on,  right  up  we  rode. 

It  was  in  the  sweet  September, 
Autumn's  banners  just  unfurled; 

Harvest  odors  breathed  around  us, 
Peace  was  over  all  the  world. 

Birds  from  out  the  forest  fluttered, 
Sang  their  nuptial  song  and  fled; 

And  the  goldenrod  and  aster 

All  our  path  with  beauty  spread. 

76 


'Twas  a  dream  most  sweet  and  holy, 
'Twas  a  poem  rich  and  rare, 

'Twas  an  hour  of  Eden  rapture, 
Only  we  and  God  were  there ! 

She  had  heard  from  early  childhood 
Cruel  tales  of  Indian  greed, 

And  whene'er  the  forest  deepened 
She  would  bid  me  haste  our  speed. 

And  I  felt  the  arms  that  wreathed  me, 
Press  me  with  a  firmer  hold; 

While  the  fluttering  heart  against  me 
Of  her  anxious  spirit  told. 

And  without  a  thought  of  peril, 
Mourned  I  that  along  our  way, 

More  of  elm  and  birch  and  hemlock 
Had  not  been  allowed  to  stay. 

On  we  came,  the  hills  surmounting, 
Till  at  just  the  set  of  sun, 

At  our  cottage  we  alighted 

And  our  bridal  tour  was  done. 

And  the  west,  with  radiance  sheeted, 
Touched  our  humble  roof  to  gold; 

And  the  glory  crossed  the  threshold 
And  through  all  the  cottage  rolled. 

And  I  said,  with  head  uncovered, 
While  we  knelt  upon  the  sward, 

"It's  the  blessing  come  before  us; 
It's  the  welcome  of  the  Lord! 

This  is  Canaan,  land  of  promise, 
Land  of  honey,  milk  and  wine! 

Heaven's  smile  here  rests  upon  us 
And  shall  rest  on  thine  and  mine. " 


77 


And  when  heavenly  constellations 
Beamed  along  the  heavenly  dome, 

There  was  light  within  our  dwelling, 
Fire-light,  love-light,  light  of  home. 


78 


THE  ORDINATION  BALL 

At  Wolcott,  in  1811 

Are  you  filled  with  consternation 
At  the  curious  combination 
Of  a  ball  with  ordination, 
Of  an  Ordination  Ball? 

But  why  is  it  amazing? 

Don't  you  know  the  Lord's  own  praising, 

To  use  the  Scripture  phrasing, 

Is  "with  timbrel  and  with  dance?" 

You  surely  must  recall 
Miriam's  bit  of  sacred  ball 
With  her  dancing  maidens  all, 
On  the  Red  Sea's  sandy  shore. 

And  how  on  one  occasion 
David  needed  no  persuasion, 
But  disdaining  all  evasion, 

Bravely  danced  before  the  Lord. 

And  how  on  his  returning 
From  a  slaughter  and  a  burning, 
All  the  women  there  sojourning 
Danced  attendance  on  the  chief. 

And  how  the  prodigal  repenting 
Found  his  father's  house  relenting 
And  the  household  joy  fermenting 
In  the  music  and  the  dance. 

In  profane  and  sacred  story, 
After  conflict  crowned  with  glory, 
Both  the  youthful  and  the  hoary 
Into  the  dance  have  swung. 


79 


And  why  when  candidating 
Has  been  followed  by  a  mating, 
With  all  the  people  stating, 
"We've  found  the  man  at  last; 

In  him  the  Lord  has  spoken, 
He's  heaven's  special  token, 
The  mould  is  surely  broken, 
None  like  him  will  appear;" 

Why  then  should  not  pure  gladness 
Quickly  scatter  gloom  and  sadness, 
And,  avoiding  moral  madness, 
The  parish  leap  for  joy? 

Thus  our  dear  saints  were  thinking, 
And  so  with  naught  of  blinking, 
Or  cowardice  or  shrinking, 

They  planned  the  festive  hour. 

An  excellent  committee 
Of  piety  and  pity, 
Of  serious  and  of  witty, 
Arranged  the  whole  affair. 

Thus  ran  the  invitation: 
"After  the  ordination, 
Those  prone  to  contemplation 
Of  the  supreme  event, 

And  proper  celebration 
Of  this  gracious  dispensation 
In  its  manifold  relation 
To  Zion's  welfare  here; 

Will  meet  at  candle-lighting 
For  a  little  social  biting 
And  a  dance  not  uninviting, 
At  Pitman  Stowe's  hotel." 


80 


The  summons  widely  scattered 
Its  glad  recipients  flattered, 
And  objections  all  were  shattered 
By  the  language  it  contained. 

All  the  ministers  there  staying 
Who  had  come  to  do  the  praying, 
Were  asked  to  share  the  playing 
Of  the  glad  and  grateful  flock. 

And  the  most  of  them  consented 
And  remained  there  quite  contented 
And  their  satisfaction  vented 
At  the  happy  plan  proposed. 

But  the  brother  just  ordained 
Emphatically  refrained 
And    quietly    remained 

With  his  newly  wedded  spouse. 

Some  thought  it  his  mistake 
The  harmony  to  break, 
And  such  a  chance  forsake 
To  know  his  chosen  charge. 

But  he  was  conscientious 
And  inclined  to  be  contentious, 
And  some  thought  quite  pretentious 
For  a  stranger  to  the  place. 

He  said  he  looked  on  dancing 
As  a  sort  of  pagan  prancing, 
Well  fitted  for  romancing, 
But  not  for  growth  in  grace. 

He  preferred  a  celebration 
Of  his  inauguration 
To  the  holiest  vocation 
Of  quite  another  sort. 


81 


However,  many  a  year  had  flown 
Since  such  occasion  they  had  known; 
A  ball  was  "needed  to  give  tone" 
To  the  ordination  day. 

And  from  the  valley  and  the  hill, 
Was  one  expression  uttered  still, 
"We'll  have  the  dance  for  good  or  ill, 
The  ordination  ball. " 


JONATHAN  AND  HANNAH  SCOTT 

Watertown,  June  3, 1908 

Gather  we  beside  the  dead, 

Rear  the  granite  o'er  their  head, 

Twine  our  wreaths  and  strew  our  flowers, 

With  their  story  gild  the  hours, 

Crown  each  homely,  worthy  name 

With  the  benizon  of  fame, 

Give  the  honor  richly  due 

To  their  heroism  true. 

Sweetly  sleep  they  here  below 

While  the  decades  come  and  go, 

Whether  on  their  couch  repose 

Driven  snow  or  blushing  rose, 

Whether  summer  zephyr  sigh 

Or  the  wintry  storm  sweep  by. 

Not  again  will  fear  or  dread 

Throw  its  shadow  o'er  their  bed; 

Never  more  will  savage  yell 

Pierce  the  silence  where  they  dwell, 

Nor  the  burst  of  midnight  flame 

Deeds  of  violence  proclaim. 

While  the  centuries  roll,  they  rest, 

Peace  the  mantle  of  their  breast; 

And  upon  their  honored  head 

Reverence  shall  its  homage  shed 

And  affection  bless  the  dead. 

Since  the  worthy  pioneer 

Found  a  lowly  refuge  here, 

What  a  change  the  world  has  known, 

How  has  human  knowledge  grown! 

Nature  treasures  vast  revealed 

That  for  ages  were  concealed; 

Art  attempted  with  success 

Schemes  whose  aim  these  ne'er  could  guess; 

Science  mastered,  as  of  course, 

83 


Many  a  gleaming,  potent  force; 
Visions  rare  have  been  made  clear, 
Strains  unheard  addressed  the  ear. 
If  these  sleepers  could  to-day 
Issue  from  their  house  of  clay, 
And  amid  the  living  stand 
Gazing  on  this  sunny  land, 
Clad  in  robes  that  once  they  wore, 
Seeming  as  they  seemed  of  yore; 
From  the  eighteenth  century  stepped, 
All  its  ways  peculiar  kept; 
Strange  the  appearance  to  our  eyes, 
Overwhelming  their  surprise. 

Let  us  think  of  these  our  friends 
As  from  ashes  each  ascends, 
Summoned  this  memorial  day 
An  important  part  to  play. 
Jonathan,  in  quaint  attire 
Patterned  from  his  Pilgrim  sire; 
Waistcoat  wrought  of  homespun  gross, 
Fashioned  long  and  buttoned  close; 
Nether  garments  to  the  knee 
Tied  with  ribbons  gracefully; 
Woolen  hose  by  firelight  knit, 
Buckled  shoes  that  scarcely  fit; 
Collar  square  and  falling  down 
O'er  the  shoulders  of  his  gown; 
Hat  a  sugarloaf  in  black; 
Straggling  locks  adown  the  back; 
Face  that  fiercest  storms  have  swept, 
Which  has  yet  its  sunshine  kept; 
Towering  form  of  martial  size; 
Courage  in  his  deep-set  eyes; 
Bearing  as  becomes  a  man 
Fashioned  on  such  noble  plan; 
View  him  thus,  as  if  he  stood 
In  our  active  brotherhood, 
Jonathan,  the  brave,  the  good. 

84 


And  beside  him,  Hannah  Scott, 
Who  has  shared  his  earthly  lot, 
Shows  the  furrows  on  her  brow 
Turned  by  trouble's  cruel  plough; 
And  upon  her  faded  cheek 
Lines  that  of  her  weeping  speak. 
Yet  through  all  most  clearly  shine 
Proofs  of  peace  and  patience  fine. 
She,  like  Hannah  famed  of  old, 
Shows  devotion's  purest  gold 
And  a  force  of  faith  untold. 
Note  the  garb  that  wraps  her  form, 
Linsey-woolsey,  soft  and  warm; 
Snowy  kerchief  to  the  waist 
With  its  foldings  interlaced; 
And  upon  her  head  a  hood, 
Homespun  linen,  firm  and  good. 
Should  the  "Merry  Widow"  hat 
Smile  contemptuously  at  that, 
And  its  flaunting  feathers  sneer 
At  such  prim  and  modest  gear; 
Let  it  know  that  'mid  her  ills 
Hannah  left  intrusive  quills 
To  the  hostile  Indian  chief 
Who  so  rudely  planned  her  grief. 
Thus  they  stand  before  us  here; 
Quaint  and  curious  they  appear, 
Relics  of  the  centuries  gone 
In  the  twentieth  century's  dawn. 
And  we  hail  them  with  our  praise, 
For,  amid  the  earlier  days 
They  were  of  the  valiant  host 
Standing  firmly  at  their  post, 
Who  this   goodly  land  prepared 
For  the  life  they  never  shared, 
For  the  scenes  that  us  engage 
In  this  wondrous  later  age. 


85 


Jonathan  and  Hannah  Scott, 

You  shall  never  be  forgot 

While  these  wide-spread  meadows  glow 

With  the  daisies  or  the  snow; 

While  the  river  hastes  to  hide 

In  the  salt  sea's  silvery  tide; 

While  the  hills  keep  watch  and  ward 

O'er  the  names  we  here  record; 

While  your  sons  and  daughters  dwell 

In  the  land  you  loved  so  well, 

And  amid  life's  rush  and  roar 

Show  the  character  you  bore. 

For  your  blended  strength  and  grace 

Surely  have  impressed  your  race; 

And  their  generations  show 

Virtues  that  to  you  they  owe. 


86 


EASTER 

O  chiming  bells,  ring  on,  ring  on, 
O'er  all  the  land  your  rapture  fling, 

Ye   celebrate   the   Victory 
Of  Christ,  the  King. 

Break  into  flower,  O  lily  buds, 
Your  choicest  incense  scatter  far, 

With  matchless  sweetness  greet  our  Christ, 
The  Morning  Star. 

Thrust  from  the  earth  your  fairy  bloom, 
O  dainty  crocus,  frail  and  sweet, 

And  all  your  beauty  spread  before 
The  Conqueror's  feet. 

Let  all  your  wilderness  of  tubes, 
O  organ,  gush  with  noblest  strains, 

In  praise  of  Him,  the  Crucified, 
Who  lives  and  reigns. 

On  far  off  shores,  O  restless  sea, 
On  coral  reef,  or  marble  strand, 

Rehearse  in  thunder  tones  to-day 
The  story  grand. 

Wake  human  hearts,  your  fears  dispel, 
Be  all  your  sorrows  chased  away, 

Rejoice,  exult  in  Christ  your  Lord, 
This  glorious  day. 

Dear  saints  who've  left  our  flinty  ways 
And  found  amid  immortal  bowers 

The  Christ  we  love,  we  envy  you, 
These  Easter  hours. 


87 


0  give  to  Him  to-day  the  love 
Our  each  adoring  spirit  sends, 

And  lilies  and  forget-me-nots, 
"From  earthly  friends." 


THE  WELCOME 

To  the  new  pastor 

We  gladly  greet  thy  coming, 

O  servant  of  the  Lord, 
And  yield  thee  warmest  welcome 

With  one  accord. 

Thou  comest  while  the  springtime 
Is  bringing  golden  hours, 

Enwreathing  earth  with  sunshine 
And  with  flowers. 

And  thee  we  hail  as  sent  us, 

A  gift  of  love  divine, 
Who  blossoms  plucked  from  heaven 

For  us  wilt  twine. 

Come  to  us  in  the  spirit 
Of  Him  whom  we  adore, 

And  He  and  we  will  bless  thee 
Forevermore. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  brother, 
Our  pastor,  helper,  friend, 

Amid  life's  ceaseless  struggle 
Thine  aid  to  lend. 


88 


HOME  AGAIN 

Grand  are  the  mountains 
Towering  in  their  beauty; 

Grander  still  are  home 
And  fellowship  and  duty. 

Musical  the  billows 

O'er  the  pebbles  dashing; 

Sweeter  far  the  organ, 

Whispering,  chiming,  crashing. 

Fair  are  the  landscapes, 

Distant  views  and  near  ones! 

Fairer  much  the  faces 
Of  our  faithful  dear  ones. 

Nature  ever  charms  us 
With  its  wood  and  river; 

But  the  temple  shows  us 
God,  the  glorious  giver. 

Weeks  of  rest  are  grateful, 
But  we're  ever  yearning 

For  the  day  that  brings  us 
To  the  glad  returning. 


89 


THE  FUTURE 

We  wonder  what  the  future  holds 

For  thee  and  me; 
Its  shade  or  sun,  its  bloom  or  blast, 

We  may  not  see. 

Yet,  in  the  future  stands  our  God, 

The  surest  friend, 
To  whose  benignant  sovereignty 

All  forces  bend. 

And  so  the  future  for  us  holds 

A  blessing  true; 
Whether  enwrapped  in  calm  or  storm, 

In  dust  or  dew. 

In  it  may  wait  the  sweetest  flower 

Or  sharpest  rod; 
Yet  all  its  weeks  and  days  and  hours 

Are  full  of  God. 


THE  NEW  STAR,  1907 

A  new  star  breaks  upon  our  western  world, 

Its   full-orbed   beauty  challenging  our  praise, 

Blending  its  light  with  that  of  gems  that  shine 
Through  centuries  with  calm,  unclouded  rays. 

Stars  of  the  north  and  south  and  ancient  east 
Flash  it  a  welcome  with  their  radiance  pure, 

Bidding  it  gleam  with  ever  richer  tints 

While    the    great    constellation    shall    endure. 

How  splendid  grows  the  coronet  she  wears, 
Our  nation,  throned  betwixt  the  silver  seas! 

How  rich  her  robes,  the  crimson  and  the  snow, 
With  all  the  starry  light  engilding  these ! 
90 


SONNETS 


WASHINGTON 

Amid  the  early,  troublous  days  he  towers, 
The  man  of  character  and  worth  sublime, 
Perchance  the  most  illustrious  of  time, 

The  marvel  whom  we  proudly  claim  as  ours. 

Like  an  abutment  stands  he,  huge  and  square, 
From  which  the  span  of  liberty  should  spring, 
The  great  republic's  lofty  arches  swing, 

The  destiny  of  countless  hosts  to  bear. 

O  Washington,  across  the  shining  years 

Made  glorious  by  thy  regal  manhood's  might, 
We  humbly  hail  thee  father  of  our  land. 

First  in  the  great  succession  of  our  peers, 

Our  sovereign  of  thine  own  unquestioned  right, 
Primal  American,  serene  and  grand. 


LINCOLN 

From  lowly  cabin  to  the  halls  of  state, 
From  humble  toil  a  kingly  task  to  share, 
A  nation's  deadly  griefs  and  fears  to  bear 

And   rescue   freedom   from   its   threatened   fate; 

Thus  was  he  called,  the  soul  inviolate, 

Trained  in  the  cruel  school  of  want  and  care 
But  eager  from  his  youth  to  do,  to  dare, 

The  heroes  of  mankind  to  imitate. 

O  chieftain,  sent  to  break  the  captive's  chains, 

From  tarnished  flag  to  wipe  the  stain  away 

And   make  the  great  republic  free  indeed; 

Though  decades  fly,  our  love  for  thee  remains, 
Increasing  as,  each  anniversary  day, 

With  eyes  bedewed  the  high  romance  we  read. 


WHITTIER 

He  walked  before  us  in  the  simple  guise 
Of  manly  purity  and  modest  worth, 
Proud  of  New  England  and  his  lowly  birth, 
His  soul  as  kind  and  generous  as  wise. 
Compassion  flamed  within  his  deep-set  eyes, 
His  pity  wept  o'er  all  the  sad  of  earth, 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  men  he  changed  to  mirth, 
He  bade  the  slave  be  free,  the  fallen  rise. 
The  air  is  sweeter  for  his  rippling  songs, 
The  world  is  richer  for  his  wealth  of  love, 
His  childlike  faith  has  brought  the  Father 

near. 

Eternal  goodness  righting  human  wrongs, 
By  him  revealed  upon  the  throne  above, 

From  countless  lives  has  banished  doubt  and 
fear. 


CYRUS  W.  FIELD 

Gently  and  sadly  lay  him  down  to  rest 
Within  the  circlet  of  the  glorious  hills 
Whose  wooded  slopes  and  clear  and  tuneful 

rills 

To  him  were  always  loveliest  and  best. 
Flowers  be  his  pillow,  and  upon  his  breast 

Drop   fadeless   palms.     Let   wild    birds   chant 

their  trills 

Above  his  couch,  while  dreamy  sunlight  fills 
The  beauteous  scene  by  holiest  memories  blessed. 
Here  sleeps  the  man  whose  name  the  world  reveres, 
The  genius  who  with  thrilling  nerves  of  steel 
Has  firmly  linked  and  wedded  shore  to  shore; 
The  patient  vanquisher  of  foes  and  fears, 
Who  space  compelled  to  own  itself  unreal, 
And  made  mankind  a  unit  evermore. 


94 


FANNY  J.  CROSBY 

O  for  a  touch,  beloved,  of  the  power 

That  ever  shapes  thy  notes  to  music  rare, 
That  I  might  fittingly  the  joy  declare 

With  which  I  hail  again  thy  natal  hour! 

Thy  life  unfolds  like  some  symmetric  flower, 
Calling  the  world  new  loveliness  to  share, 
With  added  radiance  tinting  all  the  air, 

And    yielding    human    hearts    increasing    dower. 

Accept  the  gratulations  of  a  friend 

Who  holds  thy  friendship  as  a  jewel  fine 
Untarnished  by  the  touch  of  time  and  tears. 

Long  mays!  thou  linger,  sweetest  truths  to  blend 
In  measures  swelling  to  the  throne  divine, 
Thus  gladdening  for  us  all  the  hurrying  years. 


O  man  of  sturdy  frame  and  sturdier  soul, 
Piercing  as  with  an  eagle's  pure-eyed  gaze 
The  thoughts  of  God;  interpreting  His  ways 

To  human  comprehension,  till  the  whole 

Seemed  radiant  as  the  stars  that  wreathe  the  pole; 
Proclaiming  truths  that  gild  the  gloomiest  days 
And  guide  through  earth's  entangling,  wildering 
maze 

To  human  life's  supreme  and  blissful  goal; 

Not  for  thy  giant  intellect  alone 

Wilt  thou  be  honored  through  the  coming  time, 
But  for  thy  heart  of  sweetest,  tenderest  grace. 

The  woes  of  others  thou  didst  count  thine  own, 
And  with  thy  love  beget  a  hope  sublime 
In  countless  stricken  spirits  of  our  race. 


95 


THEODORE  I.  DRIGGS 

He  lived  among  us  in  the  winning  guise 

Of  manhood  pure  and  genial,  strong  and  sweet, 
Treading  the  worthy  path  with  eager  feet, 

The  glow  of  kindness  in  his  deep-set  eyes; 

Determination,  calm  and  cool  and  wise 
Finding  on  lip  and  brow  expression  meet, 
His  soul  with  pulsing  harmonies  abeat, 

His  course  accordant  with  the  rhythmic  skies. 

The  city  yields  him  gratitude  and  praise, 
He  served  it  well  in  many  a  place  of  trust, 
The  impress  of  his  hand  'twill  ever  bear. 

A  shadow  falls  along  its  crowded  ways 

As  sinks  his  noble,  honored  head  to  dust; 
Tears  for  the  dead!     For    stricken    hearts 
a  prayer! 


MRS.  MARY  L.  MITCHELL 

Another  year  its  light  and  shade  has  thrown 
Along  the  pathway  thou,  dear  friend,  hast  trod, 
And  in  the  gloom  and  in  the  brightness,  God 

To  thee  has  tender  care  and  favor  shown; 

And  daily  thou  to  us  hast  dearer  grown, 
Thine  autumn,  as  with  radiant  goldenrod 
And  purple  asters  that  enrich  the  sod, 

So  much  of  rarest  loveliness  has  known. 

We  hail  the  happy  day  that  gave  thee  birth, 
And  greet  thee  lovingly,  and  bid  thee  stay 
For  many  a  year  to  bless  us  with  thy  love. 

All  benedictions  crowd  thy  life  on  earth, 

Till  those  who  from  thine  arms  have  flown  away 
Shall  call  thee  to  the  sweeter  life  above. 


96 


GOV.  R.  S.  WOODRUFF 

A  picture  came  to  me  the  other  day, 

The  picture  of  a  loved  and  honored  friend 
Whose  kindly  thought  and  warm  affection  blend 
To  bless  me  while  the  decades  roll  away. 
I  gaze  upon  the  manly  face  and  note 

The  rounded  cheek,  the  forehead  broad   and 

high, 

The  genial  lips,  the  clear,  straight-forward  eye, 
In  which  the  soul's  high  purpose  seems  afloat. 
And  I  esteem  the  picture  as  a  prize 

That  I  have  won,  I  know  not  when  nor  how, 
But   which   I'll   treasure   while   my   powers 

endure. 
And  to  me  it  will  ever  say,  "How  wise 

The  business  man  who  keeps  the  Christian's 

vow, 
The  patriot  whose  hands  are  ever  pure. " 


MRS.  MARY  E.  FOSTER 

Clifton  Springs  Sanitarium 

The  years  press  on  and  like  a  silvery  tide 
Are  swiftly  bearing  us  to  scenes  unknown, 
To  realms  illumined  by  the  radiant  throne 

From  which  He  rules  who  lived  and  loved  and  died. 

Another  year,  dear  lady,  far  and  wide 

The  influence  of  thy  gracious  soul  has  flown, 
And  many  a  spirit  thou  hast  made  thine  own 

Through  gifts  of  truth  and  kindness  that  abide. 

Accept  congratulations  that  a  life 

So  rich  in  benefaction  has  been  thine 

And  still  is  thine  wherewith  to  bless  the  world. 

Long  may  it  linger,  void  of  pain  and  strife, 

In  more  than  worth  ancestral  beam  and  shine 
Till  o'er  thee  all  heaven's  glories  are  unfurled. 
97 


MRS.  F.  J.  KINGSBURY 

How  sweet  to  pass  from  life  to  happier  life, 

From  earth's  bright  dream  to  heaven's  sub 
stantial  joy 

Without  a  pang  the  spirit  to  annoy, 
Without  a  moment's  agony  or  strife; 
How  sweet  to  leave  a  memory  so  fine, 

Inwrought  with  all  that's  beautiful  and  dear, 
Echoing  forever  words  that  lift  and  cheer, 
Lustrous  with  graces  that  will  ever  shine. 
Thou  hast  not  said  "good  bye,"  there  was  no  need, 
The  bond  of  fellowship  unbroken  still 

Unites  the  happy  past  with  future  bliss. 
The  morning  broke,  the  promise  of  thy  creed, 
"Life  everlasting"  grandly  to  fulfill, 

Exchanging   heaven's   all-glorious   home   for 
this! 


CLARENCE 

Greetings  to  thee,  my  boy,  this  lovely  morn! 
The  skies  are  sapphire  and  the  trees  are  gold, 
The  hills  and  meadows  show  a  grace  untold, 

And  yet  my  heart  is  mournful  and  forlorn. 

So  long  it  is  since  thou,  our  dear  first-born, 
Fair  with  thy  mother's  eyes  and  dainty  mould, 
Yet  in  thy  vigor  manly,  firm  and  bold, 

With  us  laughed  earthly  toil  and  care  to  scorn. 

Be  certain,  darling,  that  our  love  remains 
Through  all  the  busy,  separating  years, 

In  which  thy  merry  voice  has  silent  been. 

We  claim  thee  still,  and  memory  retains 
Thy  sprightly  image,  and  our  spirit  hears 

The  accents  that  would  ever  charm  and  win. 


98 


DR.  JOSEPH  ANDERSON,  1903 

And  so  another  year  has  wreathed  thy  brow, 

Brother  beloved,  with  its  flower  and  thorn; 

Paving  thy  way  with  glow  of  lustrous  morn 
Or  bidding  thee  among  the  shadows  bow. 
Seems  far  the  coast  whence  first  thine  untried 
prow 

Essayed  the  sea  where  tempests  fierce  are  born? 

Life's  sea,  where  oft  sweet  rainbow  tints  adorn 
The  waves  the  jewel-dropping  skies  endow? 
But  think  of  countless  storms  forever  past; 

Of  darkness  that  will  not  again  enshroud, 

Of  surges  that  will  never  toss  thee  more; 
And  look  beyond!     The  splendor  deepens  fast, 

The  horizon  lifts  its  arch  without  a  cloud, 
The  Master  waits  thee  on  the  farther  shore. 


THE  SAME,  1906 

December's  gloomy  features  frown  again 
Upon  the  earth  adream  of  sunnier  days, 
And  winter  with  its  marbles  paves  our  ways 
And  fills  with  Parian  statues  vale  and  glen. 
But,  'mid  the  chill  and  gloom  there's  brightness 

when 

The  heart  fraternal  eager  tribute  pays 
To  one  that's  long  received  its  love  and  praise, 
Still  strong  and  active  in  the  world  of  men. 
Can  it  be  true,  my  friend,  that  seventy  years 
Have  heaped  their  blessing  on  thine  honored 

head, 

Twining  for  thee  the  sunlight  and  the  shade? 
Once  that  was  "age, "  yet  now  it  but  appears 
As  rich  and  crowning  favor  on  thee  shed, 
Heaven's  special  privilege  to  thee  conveyed. 


99 


AN  ACROSTIC 

Joy  waits  for  thee  to-day,  beloved  friend! 
On  every  side  the  earth  in  festal  white 
Seems  with  the  azure  heavens  to  unite 
Exultant  greetings,  while  glad  spirits  blend 
Persistent  gratulations  that  extend 
Heartfelt,  affectionate  good  wishes,  bright 
And  warm  and  true  and  eager,  as  of  right, 
Nor  lacking  prayer  that  God  His  blessing  send. 
Dear  art  thou  to  a  circle  large  and  fine, 
Endeared  more  fully  as  time  glides  along, 
Ripening  thy  powers  toward  manhood's  highest 

goal. 

Still  love  and  lead  us;  teach  us  how  to  shine 
On  every  hight  of  duty,  till  heaven's  song 
Near  rendered,  flood  with  bliss  thy  crowned  soul. 


REV.  EDWIN  P.  PARKER,  D.  D. 

O  man  of  God,  the  swiftly  gliding  years 
Have  richly  opened  to  thy  raptured  gaze 
The  golden  meaning  of  His  works  and  ways, 

And  shown  heaven's  remedy  for  human  fears. 

What  privilege  to  dry  the  mourner's  tears, 
To  guide  from  sin's  bewildering,  cruel  maze, 
The  downcast  face,  the  fallen  soul  to  raise, 

And  point  where  everlasting  hope  appears. 

We  thank  thee  for  the  work  so  nobly  done, 
An  inspiration  to  thy  brethren  all, 
Bidding  us  faithfully  to  follow  on. 

The  love  and  praise  of  thousands  thou  hast  won ; 
And  when  for  thee  the  Master  late  shall  call, 
The  radiant  robes  of  victory  thou  shalt  don. 


100 


REV.  E.  G.  BECKWITH,  D.  D. 

M arch  3,  1909. 

O  watcher  by  Pacific's  sunny  strand, 
Sweeping  the  horizon  with  expectant  eye 
If  thou  the  shadowy  argosy  shouldst  spy 
Sent  forth  to  bring  thee  to  the  heavenly  land; 
At  last  thy  waiting  ends,  for,  swift  and  grand, 
The  bark  celestial  plows  the  waters  nigh, 
And  while  thy  loved  ones  wave  their  sad  "good 

bye," 

Thou  sailest  forth  at  the  divine  command. 
A  thousand  grateful  spirits  follow  thee 

With  kindly  thought  for  all  that  thou  hast  done, 
With  grief  that  they  no  more  shall  greet  thee 

here; 
Assured  that  in  God's  blest  eternity 

A  glorious  post  of  honor  thou  hast  won, 
O  faithful  pastor,  heaven-illumined  seer. 


GOV.  GEORGE  L.  LILLEY 

Amid  a  wealth  of  bloom  he  calmly  sleeps, 
The  peace  of  God  upon  his  marble  brow, 
No  shaft  of  enmity  assailing  now, 

As  by  his  bier  a  stricken  people  weeps. 

Beside  him  dirge  pathetic  swells  and  sweeps, 
And  men  of  lofty  station  humbly  bow 
And  all  his  manly  might  and  charm  avow, 

While  Honor  there  its  watch  majestic  keeps. 

From  lowly  to  exalted  state  he  rose, 

Climbing  the  steep  by  force  of  manly  will 
And  brave,  untiring  energy  alone. 

Through   strenuous   life   he   early   found   repose. 
His  rare  career  aspiring  youth  will  thrill, 
Connecticut  will  proudly  boast  her  own. 

101 


HENRY  L.  WADE 

He  walked  among  us  in  a  modest  guise, 
Claiming  no  honor,  seeking  for  no  power, 
Content  to  meet  the  duty  of  the  hour 

Nor  struggle  make  for  any  earthly  prize. 

Yet  was  he  strong,  far-seeing,  keen  and  wise, 
Of  energy  and  enterprise  the  flower, 
In  time  of  storm  and  doubt  a  granite  tower, 

Mighty  to  plan,  accomplish  and  advise. 

Great  hearted  was  he,  sympathy  and  love 

His  life  adorning  with  their  wondrous  charm, 
And  none  that  needed  aid  were  turned  away. 

A  gentleness  like  that  which  reigns  above 
All  rancor  or  indifference  would  disarm 

And  win  him  friendship  that  should  last  for 
aye. 


THOMAS  EDWARD  MURPHY 

Good  by,  beloved!     Countless  hearts  repeat 
The  tearful  word,  and  with  it  breathe  the  prayer 
That  God  may  hold  thee  in  His  tender  care 
And  into  pleasant  paths  may  guide  thy  feet; 
That  round  thee  all  things  bright  and  pure  and 

sweet 

May  bud  and  blossom,  while  the  air 
With  love's  own  blessed  sunshine  warm  and 

fair 

Shall  fold  thy  life  in  radiance  complete. 
In  hours  of  darkness  we  shall  oft  recall 

The  faith  and  hope  that  saw  the  heavens  aglow 

And  through  thine  eyes  behold  a  clearer  day. 

Thrust  by  the  ruthless  tempter  to  the  wall, 

The  weapons  thou  hast  furnished  we  shall  show 

And  pass  unscathed  along  the  upward  way. 


102 


REV.  A.  MOSS  MERWIN 

O  genial  friend,  O  brother  wise  and  true, 
Man  of  the  sunny  face  and  sunnier  heart, 
A  multitude  it  deeply  grieves  to  part 

With  one  so  winning  and  so  dear  as  you. 

Your  sweet  companionship  was  as  the  dew 

To  thirsty  flowers;  your  life  the  lustrous  chart 
That  showed  the  shining  way  from  lowly  start 

To  its  completion  in  the  heavenly  blue. 

We  think  of  you  amid  celestial  souls 
Pointing  them  ever  to  some  loftier  hight 
And  calling  to  some  undiscovered  joy; 

And  thus,   while  time   unmeasured   softly   rolls, 
W'ith  good  accomplished  marking  all  its  flight, 
Conferring  blessedness  without  alloy. 


REV.  H.  DEWITT  WILLIAMS 

Beloved  brother,  on  thy  pulseless  breast 

Affection's  rarest  offering  we  lay, 

Such  buds  as  open  toward  the  cloudless  day, 
Such  laurels  as  befit  the  victor  blest. 
We  hail  thee  truest,  kindest,  worthiest,  best; 

And  as  the  saddened  years  shall  roll  away, 

With  us  thy  precious  memory  will  stay, 
Calling  to  faithful  toil,  to  heavenly  rest. 
Thou  wast  an  Israelite  devoid  of  guile, 

Thy  faithfulness  to  duty  knew  no  bound, 

O  tireless  laborer  for  man  and  God. 
How  we  shall  miss  thy  genial  word  and  smile, 

Thy  simple  utterance  of  truth  profound; 

Heaven  help  us  meekly  bear  the  heavy  rod. 


103 


THE  SENIOR  TO  THE  JUNIOR 


Why  hast  thou  fallen  asleep,  O  brother  dear, 
Long  ere  the  noontide  has  to  twilight  grown, 
Or  thou  the  weariness  of  age  hast  known, 
When  life  and  love  and  duty  claimed  thee  here? 
Why  couldst  thou  not  have  tarried  many  a  year, 
To  note  the  harvest  thou  thyself  hast  sown, 
And  gather  richest  fruitage  all  thine  own, 
And  labor  till  the  evening  star  appear? 
I  never  dreamed  that  thou  wouldst  first  ascend 
The  hills  of  God  and  meet  our  dear  ones  there, 
And  raptured  gaze  upon  the  Master's  face. 
'Twas  mine,  I  thought,  the  heavenward  way  to 

wend, 

And  welcome  thee  at  length,  the  bliss  to  share, 
And  show  thee  all  the  splendors  of  the  place. 


CONTINUED 

Freely  we  talked  of  many,  many  things, 

The  ways  of  man  with  God,  of  God  with  man, 
Discussed  the  marvels  of  the  eternal  plan 
Through  which  the  Lord  our  race  to  glory  brings; 
Spoke  often  of  the  light  that  ceaseless  springs 
Where  saints  redeemed  God's  mysteries  may 

scan, 

And  love's  pure  flame  to  fuller  radiance  fan, 
WTiile  angel  choir  the  hallelujah  sings. 
I  was  the  senior  then,  but  thou  art  now, 
For  in  thy  knowledge  thou  dost  far  exceed 

Thy  lonely  brother  left  upon  the  earth. 
The  seal  of  God  is  on  thy  saintly  brow, 
And   with  the  vision  glorious  thou  indeed 

Dost  know  salvation's  boundless,  priceless 
worth. 


104 


HE  AND  I 

"He  must  increase,"  the  man  of  brain  and  brawn 
On  whom  still  rests  the  balmy  dew  of  youth, 
The  stalwart  champion  of  right  and  truth, 
His  eyes  yet  radiant  with  the  growing  dawn. 
"I  must  decrease,"  the  midday  fervor  gone, 
The  slanting  sunbeams  lengthening  fast  for 
sooth, 

Life's  glow  and  glamour  chastened  into  ruth, 

Ambition's  stimulating  cup  withdrawn. 

Hope  lays  her  verdant  wreath  upon  his  brow, 

Entwined  with  lustrous  laurels  bravely  won; 

Mine  memory  crowns  with  sweet  but  fading 

flowers; 

Yet,  both  before  the  Sovereign  meekly  bow, 
And  at  the  dawn  or  at  the  set  of  sun 

Accept  what  Love  appoints  for  us  and  ours. 


REV.  RICHARD  W.  MICOU 

Thou  wilt  be  sorely  missed,  O  man  of  God, 
From  all  the  city  that  has  loved  thee  well; 
From  blighted  homes  where  pain  land  >  sorrow 

dwell 

And   spirits   faint   beneath   the   chastening   rod; 
From  flinty  paths  by  want  and  misery  trod, 
From    death's    dark   vale  where    thou    didst 

sweetly  tell 

The  hopes  that  from  the  lips  of  Jesus  fell 
To  cheer  the  mortal  sinking  to  the  sod. 
And   from   the   sacred   courts    where   thou   hast 

wrought 
So  faithfully  through  all  the  busy  years 

And  won  so  many  to  the  blessed  Christ 
And  all  the  gladness  of  His  service  taught, 
There  thou'lt   be   missed   and   mourned,   and 

many  tears 

Will  seal  the  memory  of  thy  work  unpriced. 
105 


FREDERICK  J.  KINGSBURY,  LL.D. 

O  man  of  noble  gifts  and  culture  rare, 
Of  spirit  genial  as  the  sunny  May, 
We  miss  and  mourn  thee  as  we  meet  to-day 
And  fail  thy  gracious  fellowship  to  share. 
How  can  we  evermore  thy  wisdom  spare, 

Thy  words   illumined,  whether  grave  or  gay, 
Thy  counsels  never  leading  us  astray, 
Thy  vision  high  and  broad  beyond  compare? 
Yet,  thou  life's  trial  and  burden  long  hast  borne, 
Hast  served  with  faithfulness  this  wondrous  age, 
Hast  ripened  'neath  these  storm-swept  skies 

of  earth. 

For  thee  we're  glad  that  thou  hast  ceased  to  mourn 
Hast  onward  passed  to  life's  exalted  stage, 
And  'mid  God's  crowned  ones  hast  found  thy 
birth. 


CONTINUED 

Remembering  thee  we  heavenward  gaze  to-day 
And  wave  our  tender,  tearful,  sad  adieu, 
And  through  faith's  crystal  lenses  thee  we  view 

In  toil  congenial  now  absorbed  for  aye. 

The  fields  of  thought  spread  forth  in  bright  array, 
Unbounded  realms  above  our  clouded  blue, 
Untrodden  vistas  of  the  good  and  true. 

How  these  must  tempt  thy  glowing  soul  to  stay. 

And  yet  we  think  of  thee  as  most  of  all 

Exultant  in  that  thou  hast  found  once  more 
The  loved  ones  who  anticipated  thee; 

Who  flew  to  meet  thee  at  thy  yearning  call, 
And  bade  thee  welcome  to  the  shining  shore 
That  lies  beyond  death's  sullen,  mist- veiled 
sea. 


106 


GEORGE  N.  ELLS 

Through  tear-moist  eyes  I  gaze  upon  the  flowers 
So  sweet  and  beautiful,  and  think  of  him, 
Your  loved  and  lost  one,  who  beyond  the  rim 

Of  mortal  life  has  found  immortal  bowers; 

And  much  I  wonder  if  these  sacred  hours 

That  mark  his  birthday,  to  their  golden  brim 
Are  filled  with  special  joys  that  never  dim, 

And  wreathed  with  rapture  by  celestial  Powers. 

I  thank  you,  friends,  and  deem  it  honor  great 
Thus  to  be  linked    in    thought  with  him  you 

loved, 
Who  with  us  lately  trod  these  earthly  ways. 

May  sweetness  from  beyond  the  pearly  gate 
To-day  a  message  bring  you  from  above, 

Waking  your  gratitude  and  love  and  praise. 


REV.  M.  S.  DUDLEY 

Nantucket 

0  friend  and  brother  of  the  former  days 
When  life  with  us  was  in  its  crimson  dawn, 
Nor  aught  of  all  its  bloom  and  freshness  gone, 

But  every  moment  winged  with  joy  and  praise; 

'Tis  sweet  for  me  again  to  find  our  ways 

For  these  brief,  golden  hours  together  drawn, 
While,  as  when  thrilled  with  lusty  brain  and 
brawn, 

In  company  we  thread  life's  wondrous  maze. 

1  shall  remember  from  the  press  of  toil, 

The  beauteous  island  where  thy  lot  is  cast, 

The    all-embracing,    sapphire,    glorious   sea, 
The  ancient  homes,  the  mill,  the  sanded  soil, 
The  quaint  associations  of  the  past, 

And,  most  of  all,  I  shall  remember  thee. 

107 


MR.  AND  MBS.  J.  H.  BAIRD 

So  fifty  happy  years  have  flitted  past 

Since  that  bright  winter  day  when  you  were  wed 
And  o'er  your  nuptial  bliss  kind  heaven  shed 

The  benediction  that  should  life  outlast! 

And  now  that  evening  shadows  gather  fast 

And  golden  starlight  shimmers  on  your  head, 
And  anxious  care  and  toil  are  backward  fled, 

And  God's  rich  robe  of  peace  is  o'er  you  cast; 

We  gratulate  you  out  of  hearts  sincere 

That  love's  sweet  bond  withstands  the  flight  of 

time 
And  all  the  stress  and  strain  of  mortal  woe. 

Long  may  your  gracious  presence  charm  us  here, 
And  then  at  last  within  a  sunnier  clime 

Be  yours  the  rapture  the  immortals  know! 


AMZI  BENEDICT  DAVENPORT 

So  he  has  gone,  the  man  of  soul  sincere, 
Of  vision  broad,  of  spirit  keen,  intense, 
Whose  calm  research  and  fine  historic  sense 
Brought  distant  scenes  and  generations  near! 
The  man  whose  royal  nature  made  him  dear, 
Whose  love  attracted  love,  whose  faith  immense 
Embraced  a  nobler  future,  and  from  thence 
Drew  boundless  hope,  and  cloudless,  changeless 

cheer! 

So  he  has  gone!     Beneath  autumnal  skies 
He  sleeps  the  holy  slumber  of  the  blest, 

While  royal  purple  blossoms  drape  his  tomb; 

And  yet  he  wakes,  and  views  with  raptured  eyes 

And  greets  with  bliss  the  great  and  good  who 

rest 
Beyond  earth's  weariness  and  pain  and  gloom. 


108 


"NOW  I  LAY  ME  DOWN  TO  SLEEP." 

As  supposed  to  be  offered  by  a  Boston  child! 

The  time  has  come  when,  like  a  sinking  star, 
That   lingers  for  a   moment  on   the  horizon's 

brim 

As  if  its  glowing  lamp  to  feed  and  trim, 
And  then  is  lost  in  darkness  deep  and  far; 
So  I  must  sink  to  rest.     O  do  Thou  bar 

My  trustful  spirit  from  each  specter  grim, 
Thou  mighty  Power  whose  praise  the  heavens 

hymn, 

Nor  suffer  aught  my  peaceful  rest  to  mar. 
If  in  the  night  the  parting  hour  arrive 

When  I  to  earth  must  give  the  last  farewell, 
Receive  the  spark  divine  that  in  me  glows; 
That,  thought  and  intuition  still  alive, 

I  consciously  with  Thee  in  light  may  dwell, 
And  know  as  Thy  transcendent  reason  knows ! 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  FLORIDA 

"So  long  Thy  power  hath  blessed  me,  surely  still 
Will  lead  me  on,"  I  murmured  o'er  and  o'er 
As  through  the  night,  adown  Atlantic's  shore 

The  sturdy  engine  whirled  us  at  its  will. 

Swiftly  behind  us  flitted  vale  and  hill, 

And  miles  and  leagues  increasing  more  and  more 
Thrust  farther  from  me  cherished  scenes  of  yore 

And  friends  whose  love  my  heart  must  ever  thrill. 

And  then,  at  length,  appeared  a  land  most  fair, 
A  realm  of  sunshine  and  of  wondrous  bloom 
Amid  whose  loveliness  I  stood  amazed. 

And  'mid  the  song  and  tint  and  fragrance  rare, 
Chasing  away  all  lingering  trace  of  gloom, 
On  faces  loved  of  old  I  fondly  gazed. 

109 


OUR  FLAG 

O  banner  streaming  in  the  sun-lit  air, 

With  tear-dimmed  eyes  we  on  thy  beauty  gaze, 
Viewing  with  loving  wonder  and  amaze 

Thy  matchless  grace  as  thou  dost  ripple  there! 

Thy  red  is  eloquent  of  heroes  rare 

Who  poured  their  blood  amid  the  battle  blaze, 
The  white  forever  speaks  the  worthy  praise 

Of  patriot  purity  beyond  compare! 

Thine  azure  field,   reflecting  heaven's  own  hue, 
Tells  of  the  Providence  that  all  the  way 

Has  overarched  the  nation's   grand  career. 

Thou  art  the  shadowed  soul,  the  symbol  true 

Of  all  we  are  and  all  for  which  we  pray, 

Of  all  that  makes  America  so  dear! 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY 

We  hear  again  the  clashing  bells  resound 
That  told  the  story  of  a  nation  born ! 
What  though  the  king-ruled  world  should  laugh 

to  scorn 

And  judge  our  action  with  a  sneer  profound? 
Swiftly  the  eager,  glorious  years  roll  round 
And  usher  in  this  twentieth-century  morn 
Which  shows  the  great  republic  not  forlorn, 
But  for  its  strength  and  majesty  renowned. 
To-day  we  bow  before  our  fathers'  God 
With  praise  and  adoration  for  the  way, 

The  wondrous  way  that  He  had  led  us  on; 
Praying  His  blessing  on  the  sacred  sod 
Of  free  America,  the  while  with  bay 

We  wreathe  our  Lincoln,  Grant  and  Washing 
ton. 


110 


STAMFORD,  1641 

Down  slope  the  forests  to  the  pebbly  shore; 

The  swelling  hills  their  brilliant  banners  raise; 
Mianus  glides  along  its  ample  ways; 
Noro ton's  waters  through  the  valley  pour; 
The  placid  bay  is  swept  by  white  wings  o'er, 
Or  by  the  swift  canoe  that  now  displays 
Its  shadowy  form  amid  the  golden  haze, 
And  now  is  gone  like  phantom  bark  of  old. 
O'er  all  the  scene  a  silence  lies  profound 

Save  where  the  woodland  bird  uplifts  its  song, 
Or    bounds   through    bush   and    brake    the 

startled  deer; 

Or    where,    returned    from    prosperous    hunting- 
ground, 

With  accents  that  to  passion's  realm  belong, 
The  dusky   lover  charms  his  maiden's  ear. 


STAMFORD,  1892 

O  Time,  thou  great  magician!  what  a  change 
In  all  the  view  thy  potent  hand  hath  wrought! 
What  mighty  forces  thou  hast  hither  brought 

Transforming  all  within  the  vision's  range! 

No  oriental  dream  so  wild  and  strange 
As  this  reality !  How  out  of  naught 
The  splendid  picture  rises,  richly  fraught 

With  mansion,  temple,  mart  and  goodly  grange! 

O  Stamford,  beauteous  on  thy  castled  hights, 
Thy  beauty  mirrored  in  the  glassy  sea, 
Rehearse  in  full  to-day  the  thrilling  tale 

Of  sires  heroic  struggling  for  their  rights, 
Of  sons  devoted,  energetic,  free, 

Of  God  whose  grace  and  guidance  never  fail. 


Ill 


MEMORIES 

Sometimes  amid  the  whirl  of  busy  years, 

When  burdens  press  us  and  our  spirits  faint, 
And  of  the  woes  of  life  make  sore  complaint, 

There  come  to  us  through  all  our  harrowing  fears 

Echoes  of  college  bells  that  move  to  tears; 
And  then  the  voice  of  philosophic  saint, 
And  glimpses  of  the  beauty  he  would  paint 

Enwrapping  all  where  holy  love  appears. 

And  somehow,  as  amid  a  blinding  storm 

A  sunburst  from  a  riven  cloud  brings  peace, 
And  stays  the  tempest,  making  fair  again; 

So  such  remembrance  with  its  pathos  warm 
Bids  all  heart-wearying  care  and  murmuring 

cease, 
And  sends  us  cheerful  to  our  toil  for  men. 


DEPARTING  FRIENDS 

Good-by,  beloved;  prosperous  breezes  blow 
You  safely  o'er  a  gently  swelling  sea, 
And  radiant  skies  o'erarch  you  lovingly 

And  touch  your  sapphire  way  with  golden  glow. 

From  out  the  sunny  lands  to  which  you  go 

May  fragrance  wafted  give  you  welcome  sweet, 
And  gorgeous  fields  outpour  before  your  feet 

The  fairest  blossoms  that  the  seasons  know. 

And   whether  ancient,   vaulted  fane  you  tread, 

Or  watch  the  heather  glassed  in  Scottish  lake 

Or  view  the  Jungfrau  lift  its  hands  in  prayer, 

Amid  the  blessings  art  and  nature  shed, 

And  all  the  splendor  that  will  round  you  break, 
We'll  hold  you  still  in  loving  thought  and 
care. 


112 


PROSPECT 

The  sun  was  setting  and  the  hills  around 

Stood  all  agleam,  enwrapped  in  cloth  of  gold, 
While  Prospect's  monument  the  story  told 
Of  heroes  and  their  sacrifice  profound; 
When,    suddenly,    the   trumpet's    martial    sound 
In  mellow  notes  o'er  all  the  landscape  rolled 
The  signal,  "Taps,"  "Lights  out,"     "The  day 

grows  old 

And  soon  night's  gloom  and  shadowr  will  abound. " 

"Lights  out."     Alas,  the  loved  and  loving  youth 

Who  'mid  the  fleeting  years  the  call  have  heard, 

The   summons    to   the   long   and   dreamless 

sleep. 

For  righteousness  they  fell  and  sacred  truth, 
And  with  us  left  their  name,  a  priceless  word, 
Which  balmed  in  holy  tears  we'll  ever  keep. 


THE   ORGAN 

The  organ  knew  its  master,  and  its  keys 
Impatient  waited  for  his  loving  touch, 
And  all  its  tubes  exultant  gushed  with  such 

Of  Music  as  his  cultured  soul  should  please. 

It  sang  in  strains  that  angels  might  admire; 
It  lifted  heavenward  the  holy  psalm; 
It  soothed  the  ruffled  spirit  into  calm; 

It  taught  the  earthbound  mortal  to  aspire. 

The  gladness  of  the  nuptial  hour  it  caught; 
Telling  in  rapturous  notes  the  joy  of  youth; 
It  wailed  and  sobbed  above  our  precious  dead ; 

How  it  will  miss  the  hand  of  him  who  wrought 
So  charmingly  in  furtherance  of  the  truth, 
Whose  skill  was  fast  to  high  devotion  wed. 


113 


MAY-TIME 

We  wandered  forth  beneath  the  skies  of  May, 
The  air  was  soft  and  sweet  with  breath  of  flowers, 
We   trod    the    greensward    fresh    from    balmy 
showers, 

And  plucked  the  columbine's  ethereal  spray. 

Charmed  with  the  genial  hours  we  could  but  stray 
Amid  the  upland  pastures,  where  the  bowers 
Their  whisperings  ceased  not  nor  regarded  ours 

As,  tremulous,  they  drank  the  perfect  day. 

Within  this  Paradise,  while  flitting  birds 
Chanted  the  Eden  song  of  rapturous  love, 
I  freely  offered  her  my  heart,  my  life. 

And  as  I  breathless  waited  for  her  words, 

She  plucked  an  oaken  wreath  that  hung  above 
And  crowned  me  victor  in  the  fateful  strife. 


EASTER 

Unstop,  fair  lily,  all  thy  sweets  to-day, 
Display  thy  gold,  O  affluent  daffodil, 
With  fragrance  every  forest  nooklet  fill, 
Arbutus,  lovely  harbinger  of  May. 
Outspread,  O  crocus  bloom,  thy  starlike  ray, 
O  violet,  hiding  underneath  the  hill, 
With  beauty's  vision  rare  the  sunshine  thrill 
And  gem  the  sward  where  springtime  takes  its 

way, 
New  light  is  breaking  over  earth  and  sky, 

The  risen  Christ  with  glory  floods  the  world 

And  wakes  to  rapture  every  living  thing; 
He  triumphs  over  death,  no  more  to  die, 
And  bids  life's  glorious  banners  be  unfurled, 
While  ransomed  man  and  nature  hail  Him 
King! 


114 


THANKSGIVING 

Thanksgiving  comes  again;  the  teeming  year 
Has  laid  its  priceless  treasures  at  our  feet, 
Its  sun  and  shade,  its  rain  and  dewdrops  sweet 
Wrought  into  flowers  that  charm  and  fruits  that 

cheer; 
While  home  and  church  and  friends  we  hold  so 

dear, 

And  liberty  with  privilege  replete 
The  benedictions  of  the  past  repeat 
And  crown  our  life  with  happiness  sincere. 
Thanksgiving   comes   again;   prepare   the   feast, 
And  bid  the  wandering  children  gather  home, 
And  care  for  those  for  whom  no  welcome 

waits ; 

And  let  us  all,  the  greatest  and  the  least, 
Lift  grateful  praises  to  the  heavenly  dome 
As,  jubilant,  we  throng  the  sacred  gates. 


THE  FIRST  BAPTIST  CHURCH 


Church  of  the  living  God,  who  all  the  way 

Hast  walked  with  Him  amid  the  hurrying  years, 
Through  shade  and  sun,  through  smiles  and 

bitter  tears, 

Until  the  century  is  complete  to-day; 
We  gratulate  thee,  and  sincerely  pray 

That  while  the  favored  past  thy  spirit  cheers, 
The  future,  as  its  deepening  dawn  appears, 
On  thee  may  ever  richer  blessing  lay. 
How  many  a  wanderer  thou  hast  guided  home! 
How  many  a  breaking  heart  hast  bound  with 

love! 

How  many  a  weary  captive  hast  set  free! 
Still  lead  thou  on,  till  'neath  the  starry  dome 
A  countless  throng  shall  praise  the  Lord  above, 
Tracing  their  blessedness  to  Him  and  thee. 
115 


THE  CONGREGATIONAL  CHURCH 

Naugatuck,  1906 

A  century  and  a  quarter's  work  of  love, 

O  Church  of  God,  stands  back  of  thee  to-night, 
The  story  penned  in  characters  of  light 

And  read  with  joy  and  praise  in  courts  above. 

O  years  o'erbrooded  by  the  heavenly  Dove! 
O  decades  with  devotion  wondrous  bright! 
O  hosts  that  through  the  great  Redeemer's 
might 

Have   struggled   upward   toward   eternal  love! 

We  gratulate  thee  on  the  triumphs  won, 
On  all  the  virtue  that  has  from  thee  gone 

To  bless,  uplift,  and  crown  with  endless  weal ! 

May  the  good  work  so  gloriously  begun, 
Continue  till  the  blest  millennial  dawn 
Upon  thy  faithful  service  set  its  seal. 


THE  WATERTOWN  MONUMENT 

The  flowers  with  which  we  deck  the  lowly  bed 
Where  heroes  sleep  the  shining  years  away, 
Fade  in  the  sunlight  of  the  growing  day 

And  crown  with  withered  bloom  the  honored  dead. 

But  here,  enduring  bronze  with  granite  wed, 
Alike  at  rosy  dawn  and  twilight  gray, 
'Mid  winter's  gloom  and  summer's  genial  ray, 

Will  benedictions  o'er  the  soldier  shed. 

And  here,  as  at  a  sacred  shrine,  we'll  learn 
The  beauty  and  the  glory  of  a  soul 

That  offers  self  that   native  land  may  live. 

And  patriotism  here  will  glow  and  burn, 
Inspiring,  as  the  lustrous  ages  roll, 

For  country's  weal,  our  best,  our  all,  to  give. 


116 


THE  CLASS  OF  1869,  WILLIAMS 

Here's  to  the  Class,  the  Class  of  '69, 

Sturdy,  though  small,  with  grip  and  grit  and 
grace, 

Its  members  pressing  on  to  worthy  place 
And  striding  upward  with  a  purpose  fine! 
How  very  proud  was  I  to  call  it  mine 

In  the  far  days,  when  meeting  face  to  face 

We  plucked  the  flowering  of  the  Roman  race, 
Or  gazed  perplexed  at  angle  and  at  sine! 
Now  I  rejoice  in  all  your  victories  gained 

In  politics,  in  business  and  in  love, 

In  all  that  makes  you  broader,  nobler  men. 
My  choice  regard  for  you  has  never  waned, 

Nor  will  until  we  meet  in  halls  above 

And  study  truths  surpassing  mortal  ken. 


1906 

When  fades  the  summer  of  this  passing  year 
And  down  the  slopes  the  purple  asters  bloom, 
And  tassels  of  the  golden-rod  shall  loom 

Along  the  vales,  the  deepening  shade  to  cheer; 

A  quarter  of  a  century,  O  Church  most  dear, 
Will  be  complete  since  thou  and  I  made  room 
Each  in  the  other's  heart,  through  joy  or  gloom 

To  live  and  labor  on  together  here. 

What  blessed  hours  we  have  together  spent! 
What  sweet  and  holy  fellowship  have  known! 
What  charming  visions  of  the  living  Christ! 

How  many  a  loved  one  up  the  bright  ascent 
Has  passed  from  view,  leaving  us  sad  and  lone 
Yet   bound   by  deathless   ties   to  hopes  un 
priced  ! 


117 


THE  SOLDIER  BOY 

Firmly  he  grasped  the  cup  of  mortal  life; 
Its  rim  was  garlanded  with  blossoms  rare, 
Its  sparkling  contents  perfumed  all  the  air, 

It  seemed  with  joy  and  inspiration  rife. 

From  it  he  quaffed,  then  turned  to  face  the  strife, 
Earth's  heaviest  burdens  coveting  to  bear, 
Eager  the  hights  most  difficult  to  dare, 

The  while  he  praised  the  thrilling  cup  of  life! 

Sweet,  priceless  drops  it  yielded  to  his  lips; 
Success  in  study,  prominence  in  toil, 

Warmest  esteem  and  love  of  countless  scores; 

Into  great  nature's  mysteries  he  dips, 
And  then,  a  soldier  on  an  alien  soil, 

On  freedom's  altar  life's  bright  cup  outpours. 


118 


THE  CLASS  OF  '63 
WILLIAMS 

There  is  a  Class  of  classes  all  the  best, 
So  we  affirm  who  fondly  call  it  ours, 
As  back  we  glance  to  those  illustrious  towers 
Where  each  was  Alma  Mater's  honored  guest; 
Where  in  the  heat  and  glow  of  youthful  zest 
We  sought  to  curb  and  train  incipient  powers, 
And   deck   ourselves   with   learning's   sweetest 

flowers 

As  to  the  scholar's  goal  we  eager  pressed! 
And  now,  while  some  have  fallen  by  the  way, 
And  others  toil  along  the  westering  road, 

Perchance  with  whitened  brow  and  trembling 

knee, 
We  still  are  one,  as  when  in  earlier  day 

With  ranks  unbroken,  proudly  on  we  strode, 
The  sturdy,  peerless  Class  of  Sixty-Three! 


119 


THE  LOVED  AND  LOST  OF  '63 

Here's  wreath  of  laurel,  pine  and  fadeless  bay, 
Thick  set  with  rose  and  sweet  forget-me-not, 
And  gemmed  with  tears,  for  those  whose  earthly 

lot 

Has  sadly  ended  ere  the  close  of  day. 
Brothers  of  purpose  high  and  pure  were  they, 
Of  character  and  fame  without  a  blot, 
Leaving  a  priceless  memory  begot 
Of  valiant  bearing  'mid  earth's  fierce  affray. 
With  tenderness  we  call  each  cherished  name, 
And  see  through  gathering  mists  their  faces 

dear, 

And  hear  again  the  voices  loved  of  yore. 
And  oft  we  wonder, — are  they  still  the  same? 
And  as  of  old  will  they  at  length  appear 

And  with  us  learn  God's  truth  forevermore? 


120 


DATE  DUE 


CAYUORO 


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